


Bloodmyst

by 49percentchanceofbees, Illogomachy



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Blood Elves, Draenei, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, Inspired by Roleplay/Roleplay Adaptation, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-02
Updated: 2019-03-06
Packaged: 2019-11-07 21:29:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 41,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17968403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/49percentchanceofbees/pseuds/49percentchanceofbees, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Illogomachy/pseuds/Illogomachy
Summary: No sooner had the draenei arrived in Azeroth than they found themselves at war with the blood elves of Bloodmyst Isle.The elves believe themselves beset by strange demons whose very presence makes them ill. The draenei find themselves under constant attack by cruel enemies who will stop at nothing to destroy them. In the midst of the bitter conflict, a draenei paladin finds an elven rogue trapped and dying ...





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Roleplay logs between 49percentchanceofbees and Illogomachy, edited and compiled by 49percentchanceofbees. 
> 
> 49percentchanceofbees: Ician, blue text.  
> Illogomachy: Aennil, red text.

Ician turned over another cryopod to find only a charred mess inside. He couldn't even tell if there had been someone inside, their ashes now smeared over the interior, or if the damage had only been to the pod itself. Frustrated, the paladin heaved the pod aside with more force than strictly necessary.

The exarch had sent him out to search for survivors as soon as they'd located the crashed cryobay, but it looked like he was still too late. Survivors ... Those who'd made it through the crash had only met the blood elves. Ician could see them in his mind's eye, crawling scorched and bewildered through the wreckage only to find the cruel elves' knives waiting for them. His fist tightened around the hilt of his sword as he imagined it.

Ician moved on to the next pod, though he knew what he'd find. There was no sign of life -- except, as Ician moved, he caught a noise on the breeze, a whimpering cry ... He paused, listening in careful silence. It could have been a bear, of course, or one of the giant moths that inhabited the area ...

No. Ician was a healer; he knew the sounds of someone in pain. Perhaps he wouldn't come back from this trip emptyhanded after all. Quickly, he rounded the corner of a huge curve of jagged metal -- part of the crashed Exodar's hull -- searching for the source of the sound.

The magisters had known that no survivors were left after the first few waves at this alien wreckage, but that didn’t stop them from sending in a few last scavengers to pick over the wreck. It was an in and out sort of job, barely an hour in the area; for the longer any of the blood elves were present in these charred lands, the sicker they felt, the harsher the results from the visit.

You were one of the last to be sent, on more of a reconnaissance mission than anything else; you were to observe the occasional aliens who wandered into the area and report back. You’d thought the area had been thoroughly un-trapped by now. You had been wrong.

Unconsciousness had come to you a few times since you’d been laying here, and beneath as many trees as you were, you couldn’t tell the time of day; you had no idea how long you’d been here, the very thing entrapping you and causing so much pain the only thing that kept you from bleeding out. You suppose that’s half of how bear traps were designed. It has clamped down half way up your calf; you knew an artery had to have been hit from the initial spray, and considering how cold and numb your lower leg had become. If you lived through this, you’re not sure how well you’d retain your ability to walk.

It hurts, being trapped here like this; it doesn’t help when you consider the position your in, your upper body in a ditch and your leg trapped and dragging. Trying to get up out of the ditch had only proven to be more painful; you’d never sworn so much in your life. You were stuck, and in pain, and surely left for dead, if no others of your team had yet recovered you.

Ician's disappointment at finding an enemy rather than a fellow draenei clenches his jaw. He glances around, wondering if the blood elves are depraved enough to sacrifice one of their own to bait a trap. Probably not. Even if they do, he's confident in his ability to fight his way out. He slides down into the ditch, drawing his sword. Blood elf or no, Ician is a paladin; he can't leave someone in pain. He'll have to put the elf out of his misery before moving on. Possibly the only task more unpleasant than fruitlessly searching among the dead.

Your frustration at being trapped keeps threatening to make you tear up, but you translate the hot burn of fear into anger instead and attempt, once more, to swing your upper body out of the ditch; muscles burning and leg screaming with pain, you just barely manage to pivot out, half dragging yourself with your arms and half pushing desperately with your core muscles. Your relief is immediately gone again the moment you lay eyes on one of the terrible blue invaders, sword drawn, approaching you. “Shit,” is the first thing you vocalise; it’s croaked out, your throat sore from your earlier tirades of cursing. Fruitlessly, you feel for your weaponry in the hope you may be able to defend yourself, but no; your matching daggers sit, unreachable, at the very bottom of the ditch you’d just freed yourself from. “Don’t come any closer! One step more and you’ll be slain where you stand,” perchance you can bluff your way to survival. 

"I don't think so," Ician says in his deep, accented voice. As usual, he speaks with a slow, careful cadence that gives his words particular weight. He pauses to consider the elf before him for a moment. Not as near death as he supposed, it seems. Which presents Ician with a problem: he's not sure he can still call this a mercy kill, not when the elf is still alive and kicking, and to execute a helpless man contravenes his morals. He picks up the elf's daggers as he climbs out of the ditch -- he moves with a patient confidence, not caring that the motion places him in a potentially vulnerable position -- mulling over a couple potential solutions.

Not so near death, perhaps, but still a mess; hair full of sticks and leaves, a sheen of sweat on your skin, a sickly paleness to you that screams of blood-loss. Indeed, the foliage beneath you is splattered with red, stark and fresh against the dull autumnal shades. “I said stop, you beast! I shan’t be responsible for the fate that befalls you,” this is the time you’d give up and run. It’s a shame you’re _stuck_ in a _bear trap_. 

"That's all right," Ician says calmly. "I won't be submitting you any bills."

Ician approaches within a few feet of the elf and stops carefully out of range, crouching down to examine him. For a moment he's silent. Then he starts speaking again in his ponderous way.

"As I see it, there are two solutions to the situation in which we find ourselves." Ician raises one of the elf's daggers to contemplate it. "I can let you out of that trap, and we can fight as our separate allegiances demand. I will kill you, of course, but based on my experience of your fellows, you would not have stood a chance unwounded either. Or you can surrender, and I will take you back to Blood Watch as a prisoner."

You sneer at the insult, but there’s not much force behind it. As much as you’d like to argue your superiority over your companions, _they_ were back at base camp enjoying a drink and _you_ were about to be murdered by a giant blue monster. “I have no intention of dying here, beast,” you grunt, “But I have no intention of being killed as a prisoner. You’ll free me from this trap and let me go, and perhaps I’ll spare your life.” 

Ician actually laughs at that, a resonant chuckle. "I'm afraid you are in no position to be making demands, my friend. But as you wish."

Ician carefully closes the last few feet to the elf, standing over him for a moment to see if he's going to attack. It would be stupid, but then, he does sound rather stupid, trying to threaten Ician. Assuming nothing happens, he'll insert his sword into the bear trap and lever it open. The feat of strength isn't particularly difficult for him, but it _might_ show off his bulging muscles.

The first thing you get when the trap opens is a wave of relief; you’re free. The second is a choking sickness, then a wash of pain as the pressure is released and suddenly, you are bleeding much, much faster and much, much worse than you had been. You’re surprised you even still had enough blood to gush like that; arterial wounds, though, you suppose, don’t generally conform. 

You manage to drag yourself all of about six feet before unconsciousness threatens to claim you again, and you stop moving; not for lack of trying, but because your entire body is seizing. 

Right. Blood loss. 

"Hmm," Ician says, watching without making any effort to follow or help the elf. He would wait a moment after his enemy stops to make his next statement, but he's afraid if he does, the elf will bleed out before they can continue their conversation, so his next words are a bit hastier than he'd like. "If you surrender, I will heal you."

_Once you're in a cage in Blood Watch,_ Ician adds mentally. He's not stupid; he doesn't really expect words of surrender to constrain the elf's behavior. Better to leave him immobilized until he's safely contained. Though Ician is beginning to wonder if he would even make it that long. He might have to use some stopgap measures.

It takes you a moment to start stringing together words for your surrender, and in the end you go with a slurred, “ _Cur_. Heal me.” You’re not stupid, you know you’re signing on for torture and eventual murder; but perhaps, if you get the opportunity, you will be able to flee with both information and a healed leg. The satisfaction of your ‘assured’ future escape is the only thing that mollifies you over your surrender. 

"Very well." Ician still takes caution on his slow, steady approach to the elf, in case he's feigning injury. Though really, all of Ician's caution is overkill: he's heavily armored, and he's killed dozens of this man's comrades without serious injury. With these little daggers, he doubts the elf could do much to him even if he _weren't_ bleeding to death.

Before starting the healing, Ician takes a length of rope from his supplies and ties the elf's hands behind his back. There, that should keep him from being too much trouble. Well, that and the fact that Ician intends to only partially heal his leg, just enough to keep him from dying. It'll stop bleeding and reverse some of the effects of the blood loss, but Ician doubts the resulting injury will take the elf's weight ... slight as that might be.

You glare mutinously while you’re tied, like a petulant child, despite your vision getting a little blurry. The ropes are tight and chafe, a little painful, but you’ll never admit it. “I’ve been tied tighter in my own bedchambers. No wonder you monsters die so easy.” 

"I could say the same of your people, if you've been defeated in your own chambers," Ician says seriously. His tail lashes with more anger than he lets on, given the number of draenai corpses littering the wreckage around them, the wounds from elven blades clear on their skin. The individuals in this cryobay were civilians: the warriors, like Ician himself, crashed on Azuremyst.

He finishes the healing and goes to tie the elf's feet as well.

“You’re a special kind of oblivious, aren’t you?” Tied and bound like somebody’s fresh kill. Brilliant. Your leg still ached; the wound half healed, enough to keep you from edging towards death but not enough to give you your strength back. “Where do you plan on taking me? I’ll have you know, my people are looking for me.” Unlikely. 

"Does it matter?" Ician says, slightly amused. "Will the answer change your behavior?"

He begins to pat the elf down, searching him for other weapons or anything else dangerous. He's slow and methodical about it, even going so far as to remove the prisoner's boots, such a popular hiding place. Ician tucks the boots into his belt: the elf won't be needing them.

"I will be happy to leave a calling card informing them where you may be found, if they wish to make diplomatic overtures," Ician says absently, focused on his tasks. He considers messing with his prisoner a bit -- Ician's _oblivious_ alien voice could really pull off "We are no longer eating your people" -- but decides against it. He would like to eventually impress upon the blood elves in general, if not on this specific one, that the draenai are not monsters.

“Get your disgusting hands off of me,” you shriek; You don’t like him touching you, reminding you of how large he was and how slight you were, how easily he could probably crush you. Beasts, the lot of them; demons. Disgusting.“Diplomacy? With things like you? Laughable.” You don’t like that he took your shoes- he’ll find a series of lockpicks and a small dirk within them. You know you ought to have expected it, considering most hid things within their boots, but it still irritates you. 

"There's no need to be so dramatic," Ician says mildly. _Or **loud**_ : he is slightly worried that the elf's caterwauling might attract unwanted attention. From his fellows, perhaps, alerted to attempt a rescue; or, worse, from one of the corrupted beasts who wander the isle. "Had your people tried diplomacy, you might not be in your current state, no?"

Glancing around, Ician decides he's dawdled here long enough, and so he grabs his captive and hoists the elf over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. That probably won't do his leg any favors, but Ician isn't particularly concerned with his prisoner's comfort.

“My people don’t negotiate with terrorists,” your tone is snappish, aided both by your current irritation and the genuine hatred that you feel regarding the ruination his kind had rought upon this land. Being thrown so casually over the giant blue things shoulder reminds you of the aching pain of your leg; it’s all you can do to bite back a yelp, before you decide it doesn’t matter and you bellow your pain and irritation directly into his ear. “Put me down! You _stink._ ” 

"Oh? I can't imagine how you ever settle things amongst yourselves, then." Now there's genuine, though restrained, anger in Ician's voice too. For all his usual amiability, he's seen too much of what the blood elves have done on this island to have any sympathy for his prisoner. The dead civilians here were only the beginning ...

"I am not going to put you down," Ician continues, with the same restrained tone. The elf's bravado is beginning to grow annoying rather than amusing. "Not until we reach Blood Watch, I'm afraid."

“You come here, you destroy the land and kill my people, and you have the nerve to say such a thing? If I had my daggers, I’d cut your throat.” Bravado, again, because your irritation was slowly beginning to tick towards genuine fear. Now that you weren’t dying, the gravity of the situation was beginning to hit you; you were a prisoner, now, caught on what should’ve been a routine mission. 

Your sister would never let you live this down.   

"I know exactly what you would do with those daggers." Now Ician's voice is only a thin veneer of calm over burning rage. "I saw on our bakers, our herbalists and weavers and all the rest who never touched a weapon in their lives."

He pauses as he walks through the forest, turning his head to look at his prisoner. "I saw on the vindicator you captured, too. You should be glad that we don't treat our prisoners the way you do yours."

“Bakers and herbalists and weavers or no, you’re demons, the lot of you. Look at what you’ve done to this island. Your mere presence is a poison.” you pound your fists on his back, uselessly reverberating off of armour (ouch). “You say that as though I’m not on my way to be tortured and eventually hanged, or worse,” this, grumbled, because you’re not exactly speaking to him. Your next word is certainly for him, though, filled with your prior cockiness and self-importance. “Beast.” 

Ician starts walking again, heading towards the road. He does not fear to travel openly on Bloodmyst, even with his prisoner: if the elves have issue with him, let them come.

"What would you know of demons, little elf?" Ician's voice deepens, reverberating through his chest as he takes a deep breath. "Have they chased you from your home, pursued you across eons, corrupted your allies, slaughtered your kind? Or have they only _led you to battle_ , O Sironas' lackey?"

Ician's grip on the elf tightens unconsciously in his anger.

The road is conspicuously ‘clear’ of your fellows. You know they’re there; in the occasional odd brush against plants, the dust that their steps kick up, the shimmer of their magic. You can’t understand why they won’t help you. “I fight for my people as much as you fight for your right to ruin this place.” You sniff righteously, grimacing only a little when the draenei’s grip turns harsher. 

"Then I suppose our differences are irreconcilable." Ician sighs, his anger spent. Of course the elf won't actually have a reasonable conversation about the origins of this war. What did he expect? Never mind that Ician still has no idea why the blood elves are even _here_ , if not simply to be cruel. He just walked up out of Azuremyst one day to the news that his people were being slaughtered.

Reaching the road, Ician stops and raises a hand, summoning his mount. The spotted frostsaber coalesces into view: a great white cat, large enough to take even Ician's weight, with a royal purple saddle and black spots spangling her body. Approaching Ician, she meows a hello, then sniffs at the elf, perhaps attracted by the smell of blood.

“A beast who rides upon a beast! Who’d have thought,” but still, despite your words, your tone has gone from hatred to affectionate when you spot the large cat. You even offer her your hand when you can, so she can get your smell. You like cats. You liked to think they were a lot like you. You try to not let the beast catch on that you were excited about his cat. 

Ician doesn't notice the elf's interest in his mount, too busy checking the surroundings for any sign of danger. Nothing. Hm, this seems almost too straightforward. He'd've thought a blood elf, even such a pathetic one, would have a few more tricks up his sleeve than this.

The cat, meanwhile, examines the elf curiously, then licks some of the blood off his leg with her rough tongue.

"I'm afraid I have an extra burden for you today, sweetheart," Ician says, returning his attention to her. "But I'm sure you can handle it. He doesn't weigh much."

He throws the elf across the saddle lengthwise, so that he rests on his stomach on the cat's shoulders rather than sitting in the saddle. Then Ician climbs into his own place on the beast, putting a hand on the elf's back to steady him.

Your fellows likely recognised the danger this beast posed, which is why they had yet to approach. You yourself were useless. A rogue was no hand at freeing themselves when injured, bound, and watched. Perhaps later you could work on something to get yourself free.

A spasm of pain goes through your body when the cat licks your aching, painful leg, but you cant at all blame her. She’s an animal. Innocent. She doesn’t understand she’s causing pain. She’s a _good girl_. You feel sorry that she has to ferry such an overlarge Monster.

“ _oof_ ,” speaking of the monster, he is none too kind when he throws you into your new position astride his cat. You’d take this opportunity to try to free yourself if you weren’t winded as you were by the transposition from shoulder to cat. “Be gentle with me! I’m delicate.” You wheeze.

"Yes, you are," Ician says, watching the surrounding forest as the cat trots down the road. He feels more vulnerable on his mount than on foot, since now he has her to look after, too. And it doesn't help that he has to keep one hand on the elf, holding him to the cat's shoulders so that he doesn't fall off as they roll with her elegant padding motion. With the other hand he steers his mount, though it's probably not necessary: the road is rather clearly marked, and she's an intelligent beast.

While each step of the great cat aches, you can’t help yourself when your bound hands find purchase on rough fur and you begin to gently pet her. All cats were good, and you were something of a fool for them. They were one of the few things that reminded you that there was, indeed, good (besides you) in this world. “I hope for your sake that this trip isn’t long. I desperately need to use the lavatory.”

Ician raises his eyebrows but says nothing. They will be in Blood Watch soon enough. Then he can hand this obnoxious little man off to his superiors and get back to fighting, and healing, and _helping_.

And indeed, soon the path takes a sharp incline as they approach the little plateau on which Blood Watch sits, gravity pushing the elf back almost onto Ician's lap. Crashed pieces of the Exodar form a couple of buildings, but most of the draenei present simply stand out in the open air, working or talking. Several soldiers guard the approach; they are too professional to say anything about Ician's captive, but they do give him surprised looks. 

The sharp incline certainly doesn’t help much with the pain, and indeed, you grimace the entire time, doing your absolute best to not touch your captor. “An entire nest of you brigands. I can’t wait for my people to retrieve me,” they won’t and you know it. You’ll have to fight your way out, just like everyone else would have to. Nobody sacrifices their life for somebody else nowadays unless that somebody is important. You are not important.

Ician says nothing as he pulls his mount up to the holopad around which stand the three vindicators, the Triumvirate of the Hand of Argus. He gets off, bows, and drags the elf off after him, lifting the smaller man by the collar and holding him almost off his feet -- his _bare_ feet.

"No survivors?" says one of the vindicators.

Ician shakes his head -- and then shakes the elf. "His fellows made sure of that."

The vindicator curses, then stalks over to look at Ician's captive. "I suppose he might know something. Put him with the other one."

You’re definitely starting to be carted around like somebody’s fresh kill. Being shook makes you shout, and if you were in the position to fight back, you would; as it is, you just swing your legs towards your captor and kick him with them, rather uselessly. “Put me down, cur. I’m a person, not an elk.”

Ician would tell his captive to show a little respect for the vindicators if he thought it would do any good. More likely it'd backfire and the elf would shower them all in another tirade of verbal abuse. Maybe they'll gag him.

"Do be quick, Ician," the vindicator says, turning away. He's already dismissed the elf completely from consideration, and ignores the comment. "We have another mission for you."

"Of course, sir." Ician hoists the elf onto his shoulder again and turns to leave.

“Who were they? Your masters, you dog? I’ll send you running to them with your tail between your legs, just give me a chance,” you spit, unhappy to be once again hauled onto the blue menace’s shoulder. “Stop carting me around like a sack of flour! I can _walk_ no you can’t, and you know it, but anything you can do to make his day more difficult is something you would like to do.

Ician turns his head to look down at his captive and says, contemplatively, "Very soon you will no longer be my problem."

Then he carries the elf over to Interrogator Elysia and her cage.

The cage stands some seven feet high, but is only 5 feet wide and deep, not quite large enough for someone to lie down within. Thick, closely-spaced bars almost conceal the current inhabitant, a female blood elf with sullen eyes; an almost comically large lock secures the door.

"What have you brought me, Ician?" the Interrogator says, stepping forward to look at the prisoner.

Ician shrugs, the movement shifting the elf on his shoulder. "I found him in a bear trap."

"I'm glad you did. I think we've gotten all we're going to get out of the other one, now that she's wise to us."

“I’ll be your problem for as long as I’m still alive, I swear it,” you continue to cuss and squirm the entire way to the cages, where your courage dies and your throat clogs at the sight of your fellow. She looks.. terrible. “What have you done to her, beast? I’ll kill you. I’ll kill the both of you and everyone else here.” Whilst you may be a self-important asshole, care for those in your community had been crammed into your brain. Perhaps not normal for your kind, considering you’d been allowed to be captured, but your rage was lit just as much for this woman as it was for yourself. Perhaps you were sometimes a decent person.

Ician looks to Elysia to take the lead in this conversation, since she's in charge of the prisoners. Looking tired, the draenei woman walks around Ician so that she can look the elf in the eye.

"We've had a nice, informative conversation with her," Elysia says with the firm manner of a schoolteacher dealing with a rebellious student. "One I hope to have with you as well. Ician, put him in the cage, please."

One of Elysia's guards opens the cage door, another standing by to make sure that the elf inside doesn't flee. She looks up, considers her options, and makes no such attempt, especially as a moment later Ician's frame fills the doorway as he carries his prisoner inside.

“I’m not going to be kept in a _cage_ like some kind of _animal_ — let me go this instant!” You squirm as much as you can while you’re carried into the cage, much resembling a fish on the end of a hook. “I swear, the moment I get my hands back on my weapons, you’re dead!”

"I am glad you like to talk," Ician says, his tone sincere and straightforward. "It will make the interrogator's job much easier."

His approach causes the female blood elf to back into one of the corners of the cage, glaring at him and holding her hands out as if to defend herself even without a weapon. Ician ignores her, dumping his captive on the floor and then bending down to cut the elf's bonds.

“Oof- _gentle_ , I said, I thought we agreed on that, _beast_ ,” The moment your hands are cut free, you chance a right hook directly towards your captor’s tentacled face, harsh and hard not from skill but from desperation and anger alone.

Ician fully expected the elf to attack once his bonds were cut; the promise of surrender certainly doesn't seem to mean anything to him. Rather than dodge, Ician twists and raises his shoulder so that the blow lands on his armored pauldron rather than his face. _I'll just leave the ankles for him to figure out,_ Ician decides, and straightens, starting to back out of the cage.

You won’t admit how much it hurt when your fist bounced off of armour. You won’t cry. Nope. “Wait a minute— come back here! Unite me! And you said you’d heal me!” Your leg was still useless, mangled beyond use, and the two still bound together. “Beast! We had a deal!”

The door of the cage clangs shut behind Ician with a certain finality. The draenei looks down at the elf through the bars.

" _Beasts_ do not make deals," he says coldly. Then he sighs. "But I do."

He raises a hand and casts Gift of the Naaru, healing the elf back to his unwounded state.

Being healed in such a way is nothing if not strange while still conscious; the feeling of flesh and skin and nerves knitting back together like they’d been unhurt stung, and felt squirmy and disgusting, but you can’t argue about the end state. It’s as if you hadn’t been injured at all. “If you’re expecting thanks, you won’t get them. Leave me.” You dismiss him like this is your chambers and he had dared to enter them.

Ician doesn't bother to reply to the elf's latest bit of bile. _All bark, no bite._ Instead he turns to Elysia.

"Thank you, Ician," she says, placing a hand on his elbow. "I'll let you know if I learn anything interesting."

Ician inclines his head. "I must see what the triumvirate wish of me."

"Of course."

Ician walks away, back to the vindicators' holopad. Meanwhile, Elysia sits down outside the cage, looking keenly at her new captive. "Your name and rank, please."

You glare at the paladin while he walks away, and the glare is only removed when it’s time for you to level it on who you’re sure will be your torturer. “Folkyew awl. Soldier.”

Elysia takes out a notebook and pen and starts writing, her hand moving elegantly. It takes her a moment: she's clearly writing more than just the words the elf told her.

"What were you doing near the Cryo Core?" Elysia asks pleasantly. Less pleasantly, she adds, "Besides getting stuck in bear traps?"

“Flirting with the wildlife.” You cross your legs one over the other, “I have a weakness for bears.”

"There are quite a lot of bears here," the woman says. She doesn't glance up at the number of muscular draenei men hanging around Blood Watch. In the background, Ician receives his mission from the Triumvirate and hops back onto his mount to head out into the forest. "You must be delighted."

“It’s all I’ve ever dreamed of. I need to use the lavatory.”as much as you know his woman is a demon, her easy return of banter is something you’re enjoying.

"There's a bucket," the woman says coolly, clearly unmoved by the elf's plight. "When you're done perhaps we can talk about Sironas."

“I don’t like to be watched,” you hum, “irregardless of your kinks. Mind turning around?”

"Oh, don't mind me," Elysia says, leafing through her notebook. "I'll just be going over my notes."

She doesn't turn around.

“Promise you won’t look?” You suppose you don’t need her to turn around, just _not be looking at you_. “You’re cute, but not my type.”

Elysia raises an eyebrow. "Don't flatter yourself, dear."

She does turn to her notes, humming slightly as she examines a page covered in careful writing. Aennil might have a problem, though, because the other blood elf is still watching him.

You look to the other blood elf and cover your eyes, and then point to her. You hope she’s a) not an idiot and b) willing to let you try your tricks.

The other blood elf rolls her eyes but looks away, watching the guards. She probably thinks Aennil is just being shy and modest, but she's apparently willing to play along.

And with that, you stealth, and appear to disappear entirely from the cage, even the sounds of your breathing fading to nothing. Oh, but you love being a rogue. This was an excellent trick, and your favourite.

It's a long moment before anyone notices his disappearance. Finally Elysia looks up. "Stomach problems, my -- oh."

She frowns, and the tone of the interrogator's voice brings one of the guards, who shouts when she sees that the prisoner is missing. "Search the cage!"

"No, wait -- " Elysia begins, hurrying to her feet, but the guards don't hear her, and they open the cage. One of them steps inside; with her and the two blood elves, the space is very cramped.

That’s okay. You’re very good at squeezing through tight spaces; with your leg fixed you’re very much flexible, ducking through and around the Draenei and exiting the cage. You desperately want to leave some kind of ‘fuck you’, but it’ll break your cover. You don’t waste time; you flee, eyes scanning the area. God. You bet the beast still has your stuff.

It doesn't take the guards long to realize Aennil is no longer in the cage, aided by Elysia's scolding, as the interrogator quickly realizes what's happened.

"He's stealthed!" she cries, signaling the guards to close the cage -- too late, but they do have another captive to keep. "Spread out, feel for him -- he'll become visible again if you can get a hand on him. He can't have gone far, not barefoot."

Down the road, Ician hears the outcry and pauses on his mount, then turns the cat back towards Blood Watch.

She’d be right if you weren’t an elf; you spent most of your youth in the slums getting around barefoot. Still, you don’t want to prance around in the forest without your gear. You post up just beside a doorframe and wait; you know he’s on a mission, so your goal is to stay hidden until such time as you find him again.

It doesn't take long for Ician to return. He watches one of the vindicators tell off Elysia and her guards, clearly unimpressed with their skills -- and the foolish way they looked, running around waving their arms to try and find the elf.

"Your prisoner escaped," one of the other vindicators tells Ician, his arms crossed in displeasure. "I expect he'll be long gone by now."

"Not without these," Ician says, patting the boots on his belt. He'd meant to hand them over to Elysia, or sell them, but had forgotten, caught up in the importance of his mission -- to find a scout post that had dropped communications.

Ah, there he is, and there’s your gear; or at least, your boots. What had he done with your daggers? Those were passed down in your family! Not the greatest quality, but special to you. If he’d sold them, you’d be very upset. You think you’ll be waiting a while before you can get any of your stuff back, though. Which is _annoying_. You don’t want to risk being caught— with a silenced sigh, you look up, and slowly begin to climb up atop the building you’d squeezed in against. You can’t wait to kill the beast who’d brought you here.

"I'll see if I can't stay and help," Ician says. 

"The scouts may need you," the vindicator says, disapproving.

"They may," Ician agrees. "If I haven't found him by tomorrow, I'll head out."

The vindicator inclines his head, and so Ician gets to work. He goes to his mount, kneeling down by her head.

"Sweetheart, you remember that elf from earlier?" Ician offers her the elf's boots to sniff. "Think you can find him for me?"

Oh. Shit. She was a tracker. You redouble your climbing efforts; you desperately don’t want to be caught. You know you’ll never get an opportunity like this again. Once upon the roof, you flatten yourself so the sun doesn’t reveal you, and watch the commotion below. You hope his pretty kitty can’t climb.

She was not, in fact, a tracker. The cat rubs her head against the elf's boots, purring, and lays down in the sun. Ician sighs. He should have realized that she wasn't trained for that. It always worked in novels and holovids, though ...

"You're still a good kitty," he says, scratching behind her ears. She purrs and rolls over to show her belly, and normally Ician would give her a good petting now, but he has work to do, so he just gives her a quick belly rub and straightens.

He does have another idea, though. He sticks the elf's boots back into his belt, then takes out one of the daggers from the pocket in which he'd placed them. Holding it in his hand, swinging it up and down casually as if playing with it, he walks across the camp towards the inn. Then he changes his mind: if he does manage to draw out the elf, he'd rather not do it in close quarters with a bunch of civilians, not with the elf's promises to kill them all still fresh in his mind. Instead, Ician heads down the slope a ways and sits down by himself in the shade of a tree. His apparent leisure gets odd looks from some guards, but no one stops him.

The elf might be able to find other daggers in Blood Watch, but these are pretty much the only pair of boots available: the hooved draenei don't need shoes.

Oof. Okay, you _know_ he’s trying to lure you out; you understand that. But still, despite your knowledge, you find your feet moving, slipping down from atop the building and carefully crossing the heavy-traffic pathway. You don’t even think to find an alternative weapon; you want your own, and you want your boots, and you want them now. Impatience has always been your one true curse. Creeping after your quarry, careful not to tread on anything that might give you away, you stick to the shadows. What a beast. You wanted your gear back.

Blood Watch remains on alert: the guards have tightened their watch on the settlement, and some of the civilians have retreated into their tiny dwellings, little huts built from salvaged bits of the Exodar. Everyone knows there's a murderous elf about, and while he might not be armed, there's no point in taking unnecessary risks. Everyone is wary and taking particular care to watch or hide anything that might be picked up and used as a weapon.

Everyone except for Ician, who actually starts whistling as he sits playing with the dagger. He tosses it from hand to hand, carefully: dexterity and sleight of hand are not his forte. If the elf takes much longer, Ician's going to start filing his hooves with the dagger. Based on his earlier ranting, he'll probably _hate_ that.

God. What a jerk. You hope he drops that and hurts himself. You’re close enough to touch him at this point, but rather than swing for your dagger you move to press yourself back against the other side of the tree, leaning against it to make the large oak creak ominously.

Ician pretends not to notice the noise, but his heart rate speeds up. _It's working._ Or it's just, you know, the wind.

Quietly, he says, "I am very disappointed that you and Interrogator Elysia could not come to an understanding. She is quite a reasonable woman, you will find."

You release the pressure on the tree, and it creaks again. Damn him. But, as long as you stayed hidden, you could respond. “I’ve a dislike of being in a cage. Give me back my things and I will leave this place and strike this memory from my mind,” you begin to bargain, “let me leave and I won’t kill your interrogator.”

Ician frowns.

"I don't think you'll be killing anyone," he says, putting the dagger securely in his pocket -- a different pocket from the other dagger, just to make things difficult if the elf tries to pickpocket anyone. "As for the cage, you would have to come to an arrangement with the interrogator for that. You didn't even try."

“I’d rather you didn’t try to instill some kind of false hope. She’s an interrogator. They’re all the same. I’ve experience enough with them,” you go silent, and cloak again in response to catching someone patrolling a little too close. Slow, gentle, you make your way around the tree, to see how he had secured your boots. Perhaps you could take them and run. You’d be weaponless, but you could replace them— family heirlooms or no. No weapon was worth the pain of being caught.

"Like your friend Matis?" Ician pauses, anger welling in his throat at the thought of the other blood elf he captured, how Matis bragged about torturing his draenei captives. "We don't torture prisoners. We don't kill civilians."

The boots remain in Ician's belt. They're not particularly secure, just pinned there by the tops, but they _are_ on his front side, where he's almost leaning over them.

You ignore his mention of Matis. You certainly didn’t enjoy the way he did things- killing the monsters who ruined the land was certainly justified, but you had a significant dislike for torture. You, however, were not in charge and couldn’t change all that much.

Your boots were unreachable, almost worlds away. Your irritated hiss is silenced by your stealth- you return instead to your previous position. You’re not sure why you hid, for he already knew you were present.

You throw a rock at him.

The rock catches Ician in the forehead plate, cutting his skin and cracking against the bone beneath before bouncing off. Ician betrays no sign of the pain he feels, except reaching up to rub the spot and heal it with a touch of magic.

"I should probably wear a helmet," he says, almost to himself. But supplies are tight, and no such item is available at the moment.

Ician stands up and turns to face the tree, the boots swinging on his belt. "Well? Are you going to try me, or slink away like a coward?"

“Likely the latter,” and you take off, not conscious enough to ensure that you didn’t walk through brush and leave an obvious path, even stealthed as you are. It was the one foolish thing you often committed. Repeatedly. It had gotten you in trouble more times than you’d like to admit.

"You are not even very good at being a coward," Ician says, picking up the very rock that hit him and throwing it at where, thanks to the trail in the brush, he knows the elf to be. It probably won't seriously hurt him, but it should break his stealth. As soon as the rock's in the air, Ician follows it, moving quickly towards the elf.

The rock hits the back of your head, and three things happen in quick succession; you yelp in surprise, your stealth drops, and you proceed to stumble right off the edge of an incline and roll down the hill. Ah, yes. You were definitely a rogue.

Ician can hardly decide whether to be amused or annoyed at the elf's clumsiness. He chooses amused and, just to annoy his enemy, laughs aloud, a booming sound. Then he calls to the nearby guards: "He's over here!"

Without waiting for them to respond, Ician starts after the elf, sliding down the hillside. Who knows, he might need rescuing again.

“Asshole!” You shout back, scrabbling up and back onto your feet, kicking up as much dust as you can before you take off running through the underbrush once more.

Now the chase truly begins. Ician whistles for his mount, but doesn't wait for her, sprinting after the elf. He doesn't waste breath on words, especially when he can quickly see that the elf is faster than him. But if Ician can keep him in view till his mount comes ... besides, maybe he'll step on a sharp rock.

You don’t step on a sharp rock, but you pick some up in your desperate attempt to arm yourself; occasionally you’ll stop to toss them, potshots really, at your pursuer. It’s during one such throw after a long trace that your situation goes from bad to worse; the transition from grass to soft sand goes unnoticed, but you running face first into the business end of a the slippery-wet flesh of a naga certainly doesn’t.

Ician dodges the rocks easily, even laughing at the attempts. "Is that the best you can do?"

Focused on running, Ician registers that the elf stops before noticing why; he puts on a burst of speed, encouraged. And then he skids to a halt, hooves slipping in the dirt, as the naga lets out a skin-crawling hissing shriek. _Calling its kin,_ Ician knows, from fighting the naga here before. Light, but he should have cleared them all out.

There’s a noise suspiciously similar to that shriek, except it comes from you, rather than the naga; again, scrabbling and finding no purchase against the sand, you back up as fast as you can. Your last rock is pointlessly thrown at the naga— and, in the tradition of slapstick comedy, strikes it in the eye, which gives you the idea to use the environment around you to your advantage. A handful of sand meets the naga’s eyes in an attempt to blind it, and you jump back to hide yourself behind the paladin. “Don’t just stand there! Kill it!”

Ician doesn't argue, instead throwing his shield so that it bounces off the naga's head before it can clear its eyes and returns to him. Then he leaps in with his sword, hacking into the creature as its claws rake uselessly against his armor. The naga's scales protect it from the worst of Ician's blows, but it screams in pain nonetheless.

A second naga appears from among the trees. This one's a magic-user: blue light swirls around its hands as it prepares to cast.

You take your opportunity to pickpocket the large blue man, retrieving your boots, and knives; rather than be the backstabbing best you’re literally made to be, you launch at the second naga instead, interrupting its cast with a carefully placed stunning blow.

Ician notices the theft but doesn't comment. He can't exactly fault the elf for wanting a fair chance in this mess, though he will happily fault the elf if the man stabs him in the back. Well, if he does, Ician will still get the last posthumous laugh, since that'll leave the elf to face the naga alone.

A third naga emerges from the forest, and Ician throws his shield again, bouncing it off the three naga's heads and then catching it in time to raise it and deflect the new naga's trident from his chest. With a shout, he calls down the power of the Light, which strikes the ground around him in glowing cracks, harmless to the elf but inimical to the naga.

You throw a small blade, produced from within your boots, at the third naga, and it stops in its tracks; almost frozen, unable to battle; the sapping poison on the instrument paralysing it. Considering the metabolism of these beasts, it won’t last nearly as long as you would like it to. It’s a tactic for fleeing, not fighting. Speaking of fighting, with a decent combo built, you deliver a devastating eviscerating blow to your current foe. You’d celebrate if it weren’t for the equally brutal hit your ribs take before you can get back into battle.

One naga down, two to go. Ician would congratulate the elf if he didn't need that breath for fighting ... and if two more naga didn't approach as the one went down. _Damn._ Ician desperately hopes they won't have to face the entire nest. He's not very good at fighting large groups; they tend to overwhelm him as he focuses on damaging a single opponent.

As the elf takes a blow, Ician spins to cover him with his shield till he can get his breath back, taking a trident strike on the back that his armor _mostly_ absorbs. A moment later he wonders what he's doing. After years of paladin training, he's so used to taking hits for others that it's almost instinctive.

You gather your wits and proceed to duck around the paladin to strike for the Naga in his current blind spot, quickly and efficiently disarming your foe. The arrival of new naga has flaming irritation strike through you; you’d almost been done, here! And to make matters worse, the formerly paralysed naga leaps back into action. Slapping the back of your newly christened battlemate, you let off the one small heal spell you know, before returning to defending yourself from your fish-snake opponents.

_If you could heal why didn't you heal yourself earlier?_ Ician doesn't bother asking the question, instead cleaving the disarmed naga almost in two. Two down, three to go. They can handle this. The elf's actually a half-decent fighter, to Ician's surprise.

Another shield throw and the mage naga's spell catches Ician in the face while he waits for his shield's return. An entirely un-paladin-like swear word passes through Ician's mind as his ears ring with pain. He brings his shield up instinctively, hoping to deflect any blows aimed at him while he musters the concentration to heal himself.

You take a moment to laugh when you hear the paladin swear, but realise any injury in this battle could mean serious consequences and instead switch from offensive to defensive, trying to keep blows away from the heavier hitter while he recovers. You manage to nail a naga in the face, which feels oh-so-satisfying.

Three down, two to go. The odds are even now, and Ician needs to pick up the pace if he's going to show this elf what's what. Normally he isn't competitive -- and his focus is defense, not damage, anyway -- but under the circumstances ...

The remaining naga include one fighter and one caster. Ician bashes the fighter in the head with his shield and sends a bolt of holy energy at the caster, hitting it hard.

On the otherhand, you’d considered this a competition basically from the moment you got those familiar handles back in your hands. You’d felt whole again after a very terrible, nasty, no-good day.

Taking advantage of the bashed fighter, you spring at it with blades raised; much like in all of the favourite plays of your youth, when you come down on it, it’s with your blades through each eye socket, and gives you a thoroughly dead naga.

With the fighter taken care of, Ician turns and slings his shield at the caster, leaving its head rather concave. That's one naga who won't be throwing spells anytime soon. Or ever again.

With a long sigh of relief, Ician turns to his companion, congratulations and an inquiry as to whether he needs healing on his lips. Those words die as he actually looks at the elf and remembers that there's a war on.

Already prepared to celebrate (and boast about) the successful battle, you spin to face the paladin with laughter in your eyes and a smarmy grin on your face, before the reality that this is not merely one of your fellows sets in. “I don’t suppose you plan to let me walk away, now, do you?”

Ician hesitates. One good turn deserves another, and he _is_ grateful that the elf helped instead of stabbing him in the back -- or running while Ician and the naga distracted each other.

"We should move before more naga come," he says instead. Their battle was loud; it could easily attract more of the monsters.

The response Ician gets is a long, heartfelt, overdramatic sigh and a blood elf waving his hand in a ‘lead the way’ motion. Certainly, you could run and possibly get away, but the beast _had_ technically saved your life _twice_ now. You certainly wouldn’t let him put you back in a cage, but perhaps some civility was to be called for.

Lead the way? And get stabbed in the back, now that the elf doesn't need him to fight the naga? Ician doesn't think so.

"Over here," he says instead, heading in what he'd consider a neutral direction -- away from the naga nest, but not towards Blood Watch, either. He waits for the elf to keep pace with him.

Right. You were enemies. Simple allowances like that couldn’t be made. You keep to his side, instead, while the two of you leave the beach and return to the relative safety of the tree line. “..you’re handy with that shield.”

"You're good with a knife," Ician replies. He sighs and sits on the ground under a tree. While he places his back to the tree, his posture is otherwise relaxed; he's certainly not prepared to jump up and fight -- or run after someone.

It’s only a moment of hesitation before you sigh and sit next to the Draenei - the battle had been draining enough, anyway, so some rest wouldn’t go astray. The two of you seem to be doing a lot of sighing, though. You suppose the situation calls for it. “Thanks.” You let it remain open-ended, so it could be for the compliment, or him defending you during that battle, or for the fact you hadn’t been dragged back to be shoved in a cage again.

Ician sneaks a sidelong look at the elf, trying to understand him. Why hasn't he just run? Maybe it was the stupidity again.

"You made a lot of threats," Ician says, his voice calm. "I can't let you go if you're going to come back and 'kill us all.'"

Ician's not sure he likes that the words open up the _possibility_ of letting the elf go -- but he hasn't committed to anything.

“I bark more than I bite,” idly, you begin to tug little tufts of grass out of the ground and place them upon the paladin’s knee. Why _hadn’t_ you just run? It would ultimately be the smart thing to do, but annoyingly, you felt like you _owed_ this demon _at least_ a conversation. Damn your moral compass to hell.

"I noticed," Ician replies. He stares at the grass on his knee, perplexed by the elf's behavior. The only far-fetched theory he can come up with is that it's a symbolic threat, suggesting Ician's impending death and burial. No, that doesn't seem right.

Ician pauses, thinks about everything the elf said earlier that he dismissed as pointless bile. "We really don't torture prisoners, you know."

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” there’s no real venom behind your words, really; either from being tired from the day’s happenings or, again, because of your damnable skewed moral compass, you can’t summon the rage you’d had earlier. (You discover a worm while you’re picking through the grass, come to the surface perhaps from the commotion of your actions, so you dig a little hole with your fingers to put him back. Worms are excellent friends and just doing their best).

_You'll get to._ Ician doesn't say that, as such a threat would ruin the current mood of their conversation, which he is starting to find pleasant, for all the burial symbolism. Which, of course, is only reinforced by the thing with the worm. Also, Ician's never seen a worm before. He finds it, and the easy manner in which the elf handles it, fascinating.

"And the land was an accident," Ician says, looking out towards the sea, reminded of what his people had -- accidentally -- done here by the reddish hue of the grass. "That's why we're here: to clean it up."

The mention of the ruination of the land brings a bitter expression to your face. “I don’t think the Magisters would believe something like that.” You say nothing about whether you believe it or not. It’s not your job to have opinions on these things, and you have to keep reminding yourself of that. You were a soldier in a war. You did what you were told. “Some of us had almost settled. Now staying makes us sick and the beasts here are inedible. Half of us are suffering from dehydration because we have to treat the water before we can drink it. Tensions are high and people are looking to lay their blame somewhere.”

Ician almost asks what his companion and not his leaders believes, but he stifles the question. He supposes it's obvious. Still, he's glad to have this conversation, to understand why the elves are fighting. It's knowledge he plans to take back to his commanders. Maybe the understanding will help them deal with the blood elves -- maybe even to find peace.

"We have magic that can cure the sickness," Ician says instead. "We'd have given it to you, if you'd let us explain."

“Speaking strictly for myself, I’m not so inclined to listen to nor welcome strange peoples I’ve never seen while my friends are suddenly sick and dying.” Rather uncomfortably, you shuffle; you realise you’re giving him information you probably shouldn’t, and it makes you feel dirty, like you’re betraying your people, even though you’re just trying to reason.

Ician has nothing to say to that. Hell, he may have said too much already: if the elves know the draenei can cure the sickness, it might only make them more determined to kill the draenei and seize that cure. Never mind that the cure resides chiefly in the minds of the draenei mages and technicians who can work it ...

On the other hand, Ician almost wants to tell the elf to go back to his masters and tell them what he's learned: maybe it will bring the elves to the negotiating table. But then Ician remembers that there's a wider war, outside of Bloodmyst, one that he's only just heard inklings of: Horde vs. Alliance. And the draenei are Alliance now, these lands ceded to them for their settlement.

"That's a pity," Ician says at last. "I'd rather negotiate than fight."

“At least we can be in agreement on that point,” you weren’t even strictly a fighter to begin with. You were reconnaissance; a spy. Certainly, in a pinch you’d be drafted for battle (you weren’t useless in a fight, as evidenced by the dead naga) but chiefly, your talents lie elsewhere. You’d always thought the weapon of knowledge and diplomacy more helpful than the edge of a blade. But again, you were just a soldier. Your opinions on how this war should be ran were completely unimportant. You were proud to be a member of the Horde, fighting for what you, personally, thought was right.

Ician looks at the ocean again rather than meet his companion's eyes as he speaks his next sentence: "If you come back with me, I'll make sure you don't go back in the cage."

His voice is casual, nonthreatening, as if he's talking about the weather.

He's not certain how he'll manage that -- he probably doesn't actually have the authority to make that promise, honestly, and they don't really have anywhere else to keep prisoners. But he's a war hero, and an inventive one at that; he'll figure it out.

“If you can assure that, then I suppose I can agree, if only because I am incredibly charitable and you’ll be made a fool of if you return quarriless.” Your decision was too quick, and you know it was one of impulse, half driven by your personal need for knowledge and half by the fact you may end under suspicion when you return. You’re sure you’d already been seen sitting and fighting with the beast. Besides; perhaps you deserved a vacation (and you doubted he’d truly let you go anyway- for all the two of you seemed to be getting along, he was still tasked with your capture. Perhaps you can negotiate some decent terms for your inevitable imprisonment, however). “I expect a minimum of a proper bed, to be allowed to use an actual lavatory, and decent food. I’m a very high class person and I shan’t be treated like just _any_ prisoner.”

Ician actually laughs a little at the elf's demands -- and at his arrogant tone.

"My deepest apologies," he says, his tone deeply serious. It's impossible to tell if he's being sarcastic -- from the _sound_ of his voice, at least. "I had no idea you were deserving of such accommodations."

Then Ician becomes genuinely serious. "There's a limit to what I can guarantee. Beds and food aren't in sufficient supply in Blood Watch as it is. But I will promise you that you will receive no worse than any of us."

You can’t say whether _you_ were being sarcastic, either. Surely, you’d been speaking in jest, but they were all genuine worries; you’d rather fight the naga again than sleep a night in a cage.

With a long-suffering sigh, you remove your daggers from your belt and lay them on top of the small grass pile you’d amassed on the draenei’s leg. “Can I keep my boots?”

"Yes, but not the dirk," Ician says, holding out a hand. He's not sure if the elf ever reclaimed the little knife he threw at the naga, but he'd better ask just in case. He doesn't mention the lockpicks: he figures the elf can keep them so that if he _is_ tossed in the cage again, somehow, he can get out. It won't be an issue, Ician thinks; he fully intends to keep his promise.

With a disgruntled sigh, you hand over the little blade you’d retrieved, back in its small ankle sheath. It was a poisoned blade, so it had to be handled carefully. “Don’t get any ideas of licking that. It smells crazy good, I know, but the paralytic on it will give you all kinds of hallucinations.” You try a joke, to see how it lands (the poison comes from a very large carnivorous plant. They excrete it and draw in their prey (usually hungry wanderers)).

Appearing to take the elf's words seriously, Ician sniffs the blade. "A tempting proposition, but hallucinations _would_ be inconvenient at the moment. Perhaps another time."

He stands, pocketing all three daggers, the grass falling from his leg. Ician glances around. "Let us go, then."

You frown when your pile of grass is discarded but stand up anyway, brushing dirt and dry foliage from your clothes. “Agreed. It’s almost time for supper, and I can’t miss a meal- it’ll ruin my figure.” Is it vindictive of you that you hope you return to find a very harried group of guards?

"That would truly be a tragedy," Ician agrees seriously, starting off into the forest. He and the elf walk for a bit before something else occurs to him: "I don't think I ever got your name. It is polite to exchange them, is it not? Mine is Ician."

You’re considerably surprised when he starts off ahead of you instead of insisting you walk beside him - both because this is an excellent moment for you to flee and because he had so insisted earlier (although you suppose you’re weaponless now) - but you take up your previous position anyway. “Aennil. Is it not going to look odd if you take me back to your people without me being in binds?”

"Aennil," Ician repeats. The name sounds odd in his accent. He adds, politely, "It's nice to formally meet you."

At the question, Ician shrugs. "It may look odd, but what of it? It will be simple enough to explain that we came to an understanding." He pauses. "Though they will probably want you bound, when we get there. But I promise you will not be caged."

“I just don’t think I understand how you and your people work.” He could just. _explain_. That you’d come to an understanding. And they’d not accuse him of treason? That’s so very, very dangerous. How had his entire clade not been murdered yet?

"The feeling is mutual," Ician says, quietly but with some humor. He's not even sure why Aennil is so concerned with this point. What did he think they would do, shoot him on sight? Well, they might, if Aennil were to approach the camp unescorted -- tensions _are_ high. But at Ician's side, he should be fine.

You certainly hadn’t crossed ‘killed on sight’ off of your list of potentials, yet. It’s what you’d been trained to do. It’s what was _sensible_. Anything else left too much to chance. “And you’re sure I won’t be put in a cage?”

"I'm sure. My people honor their promises." Ician doesn't mention that he probably didn't have the authority to make that promise -- it was made, and now his people _have_ to honor it. It's a matter of Ician's personal honor that they do, so he adds, "If they fail to do so, I will break you out myself."

It's now that Ician's mount arrives, moving quietly through the underbrush until she appears in front of the two men. The big cat meows at Ician.

“That would make you a traitor,” you caution; overall, you logically know it’s not your problem, but again- _morality_. Curses.

Your unwelcome worry fades away to nothing immediately when Ician’s mount arrives, replaced with excitement instead. You’ve always had a soft spot for cats, and this one was a beauty. “Hello, beautiful,” You murmur, wiggling your fingers towards her.

Ician shrugs. He'd sooner betray his people than betray his own morals, because if his leaders require the latter of him, they are no longer worth following. But: "I think I can convince them otherwise, if it comes up."

He didn't say that he'd let the elf go, just that he'd get him out of the cage. And he _was_ a war hero. He suspected that the vindicators would be hesitant to break with him outright, especially over so reasonable a demand.

Ician almost has to smile at Aennil's excitement to see the cat. And she seems to reciprocate, pushing her head into Aennil's fingers so that he can pet her, purring all the while. "She likes to be scratched behind the ears."

“If you say so,” you don’t and likely won’t understand, so you’re happy to drop the topic and focus on his mount instead. “Oh, you pretty thing,” you take almost immediately to scratching her behind her ears when you receive the information, both hands rubbing over fur. “You pretty, pretty thing. I love you. I love you already.” All cats were excellent, and this one was no different.

Now Ician does have to smile, especially when he sees how much the cat enjoys Aennil's attention. She pushes her head into him, turning it to rub her cheek against his front. If she moves into him much more, she's in danger of bowling him over.

"Would you like to ride her?" Ician says.

You’d let her knock you over. You’d let her crush you if she felt like it, because she’s excellent and if that’s what she wants you’ll let her. “I would love to. She’s beautiful.” You hadn’t gotten to properly experience what you’re sure is a very smooth ride earlier, slung over her and injured as you’d been.

Ician whistles and the cat stands to attention, still leaning towards Aennil. Climbing onto her back, Ician rubs a brisk hand over the silky fur of her head. "Sorry to pull you away, sweetheart, but we do need to get going."

To Aennil, he adds, "Thank you."

You climb astride her ahead of him, perhaps a tad uncertain. You’re used to riding a biped, which is certainly different- you know, logically, that she will be an easier ride, but some kind of reassurance that you won’t fall is nice. “Whatever for? If it’s for not stabbing you, believe me, you, I’d thought about it.”

Ician chuckles. "For that, certainly, but I chiefly meant for the compliment to my mount."

He shifts his legs, gently squeezing the cat beneath him, and she starts through the forest at a steady lope. She could maintain this pace all day -- and if Aennil were to fall off, they're not going fast enough to cause any injuries.

"I won't let you fall off," Ician adds anyway, taking a grip on the back of the elf's belt.

“Oh. In that case, you’re very welcome. She’s excellent,” you jolt a little when the cat starts moving, but allow your body to relax into the movement. This wasn’t so bad. “As if I would ever be caught doing something so graceless as falling off of a mount.” A huff, but you’re still glad when he grabs your belt.

"I'm sure you would never be caught," Ician says, his serious, even tone making it difficult to tell if he's joking. (He is.)

The cat soon starts up the incline to Blood Watch: they didn't go that far. The guards stare, to see the elf riding unbound with Ician, and some of them reach for their weapons, but Ician waves them off, indicating that everything's fine. With light pressure from his knees, he steers the cat towards the vindicators' holopad.

You sit as straight-backed as you can while the two of you approach the makeshift town, head held high and regal, as if you have every right to be here. “Your friends look like they’d prefer me back in the cage.”

"Possibly so."

Before Ician can reach the vindicators, Elysia hurries over to him. The cat stops: Elysia stands in her path. She's almost as tall on foot as Aennil is mounted.

"You found him, Ician, thank the Light. I must tell you I am not looking forward to reporting to the exarch on this front." Elysia places her hands on her hips and glares at Aennil, again taking on a schoolmistress' tone. "Slippery, aren't you? We'll have to chain him to the cage bars."

“You, my dear, are terrible at keeping your prisoners. It’s not my fault you’re unpracticed,” You sniff, pompous. “I have no intention of returning to your, ah, _care_.” You idly stroke the cat’s fur, glaring down your nose at the interrogator.

Elysia takes this about as seriously as she's taken the rest of the elf's banter -- so, not at all -- until Ician dismounts and says, gravely and calmly, "I'm afraid that won't be possible."

He tugs on Aennil's belt, signaling for him to dismount as well.

Elysia looks at Ician, confusion in her eyes, though not on her face. She almost seems to think he's joking. "What do you mean?"

"I promised him he would not be caged," Ician explains patiently.

Despite wishing to remain astride the cat to retain the extra height, You dismount when you are motioned to, giving the mount one last scratch behind the ear. “And so I shan’t be.”

The cat pushes her head into Aennil's hand one last time and then turns and wanders off, heading for the stable master, who will see to it that she's fed. Elysia, meanwhile, looks between Ician and Aennil, assuming a careful, neutral expression, her eyes calculating. At last she says, "You'll have to speak to the Triumvirate about that. I don't have the authority to authorize that, not unilaterally."

Her voice is carefully neutral as well, so Ician isn't sure whether the latter is a dig at him -- because if _she_ doesn't have the authority for that, he definitely doesn't.

"I shall do so," Ician says. "Will you join us?"

"Yes." Elysia takes a last look at Aennil and rolls her eyes. "Light's sake, Ician, at least bind his hands."

“He refused when I mentioned he ought to. I doubt he’ll listen to you.” Carefully, you brush down your shirt, removing little cat hairs. You hated being dirty but felines were worth the consequential fur coat. “Shall we get this over with, then? I’d hate to miss supper.” You’re posturing, and you know it, and you’re sure Ician and probably the interrogator know it, too.

"It might be best," Ician says, taking a length of rope from his belt. He turns to Aennil, holding the rope, hoping the elf will hold out his hands to be tied. If not, this could get ... awkward.

"I hope that attitude serves you well with the Triumvirate," Elysia says, sounding more amused than annoyed.

Your hands, instead of being offered, find their way to perch on your hips, which you jut out to one side while you raise a brow at the rope. You’ve taken to ignoring the woman. “That isn’t necessary.”

"Is it not?" Ician says calmly. "Elysia believes it is, and she is the expert."

He promised Aennil would remain uncaged, but Ician isn't stupid enough to think the elf will be allowed to wander the camp -- or left to his own devises. More likely, he'll be imprisoned elsewhere. Ician hasn't thought far enough ahead to know what that prison might be.

At the moment, though, Ician is reminded that he didn't exactly promise to be Aennil's ally -- or friend. He will use force on the elf if necessary, as long as he remains uncaged.

“ _Elysia_ also let me escape once already, so I’m not entirely sure she’s the expert you think she is. I don’t want to be driven to flee again. You’d both get in considerable trouble if you lost me not once, but twice,” you still don’t offer him your hands. You want nothing to do with that rope. You still had chafing rope burns from your last time tied up. You didn’t _like_ being restrained against your will. It was, perhaps, one of your biggest fears.

"If you escaped once already, then you have nothing to worry about," Ician says reasonably. He really doesn't want to have to use force on Aennil. If the elf doesn't agree this time, he might just give up. He's certain the Triumvirate will order him to restrain Aennil, but that will be their fault, not his.

"You should hurry," Elysia tells Ician coolly. "I believe Vindicator Aesom has noticed our little congregation here."

“You’re not going to be tying me up.” You don’t trust anyone here enough for that. Being bound means losing control and losing control means going back into the cage.

Ician sighs. He'd rather leave that issue for later than provoke an elven tantrum right now. Particularly since he does anticipate that the Triumvirate may be, well, less than pleased with his promise, and it would be nice if Aennil at least _tried_ to keep a civil tongue in his mouth for that conversation. It probably won't happen, though, which is why Ician doesn't even bother asking. That, and if the elf wants to ask for further trouble, that's his watch. "Very well. Let us go face the Triumvirate."

Elysia leads the way across the reddish grass to stand before the Triumvirate's holopad. All three vindicators are watching her and Ician now, clued in that something is going on.

Despite your disagreement, you still remain close to Ician while the two of you walk over towards the Holopad. It looks a lot like some gnomish technology does, so you’re not entirely thrown out of the loop. “Who, exactly, is the triumvirate?”

"They are our military leaders. They report directly to the harbringer, who reports to the exarch, our civilian leader. The exarches report directly to Prophet Velen and his council." Ician glances down at the elf at his side, his voice taking on a _certain_ tone. "It might help your case to be polite to them."

"Elysia, Ician," says Vindicator Boros, no more acknowledging Aennil than he would Ician's cat. "You have something to discuss with us?"

“Right. I can be polite.” This is probably the person who decides whether you go back in a cage or not, so you can reign in your usual banter for... probably long enough. You stand to attention beside Ician, hands behind your back while you wait for the conversation with this Draenei to end and the more important one to begin.

"Vindicators," Elysia says politely, half-bowing. She takes a moment to decide how to phrase her next statement. "It's about the prisoner. Ician has made a deal with him, it seems, that he not be caged. I thought it best to ask you to authorize this action."

Now all three vindicators' eyes swing towards Aennil.

Somewhat overzealously, you duck into a low, flourishing bow that would’ve suited you more if you’d been wearing robes than armour. “Vindicators,” you practically purr the word, straightening your back once more. “A pleasure to be in your presence.” You could be polite.

He might be laying it on a little thick, but Ician can appreciate that Aennil took his words to heart. The vindicators don't seem to, though: Kuros' face in particular turns sour at the elf's fancy bow.

"Ician," Aesom says. "What is the meaning of this?"

Ician bows his head. "It is as Elysia said. The elf agreed to return to Blood Watch with me if he were not caged. He has kept his part of the bargain, so I intend to keep mine."

You nod along with Ician’s words, as if your agreement will at all impact the way they receive the words. You know this is the time you’re supposed to shut up and let Ician do the talking, but.. “I don’t intend to cause trouble unless I’m threatened.”

"Impossible," Vindicator Kuros says. "We cannot allow one of the enemy to wander freely through our settlement. We have civilians here! It would not surprise me if his surrender were a ruse to get him into Blood Watch."

"I doubt that's so, sir," Ician says mildly. "I found him in a bear trap. He would have bled to death had I not healed him."

"Even if he speaks the truth, who knows what might be 'threatening' to such an ... individual?" Boros says. He shakes his head. "It won't work, Ician."

"I never meant to suggest that he be offered free rein of the camp," Ician explains. "He may be bound and his movements restricted, so long as he is not caged."

You shoot a quick glare at Ician, and then at each of the three vindicstors. You have no intention of being bound. If a rope comes within five feet of you with the intention of tying you up, you _will_ retaliate.

You suppose you can understand why they don’t want to give you free roam. You’re definitely an enemy of these people, or had been. They had no reason to trust you. That wouldn’t stop you from refusing to be contained.

"What do you think, Elysia?" Vindicator Aesom asks.

Elysia shrugs. "Frankly, sirs, I would prefer the cage. But it didn't work that well on our last prisoner. Perhaps Ician is onto something. There is a saying about honey and vinegar ..."

Kuros crosses his arms. "And you expect us to believe that you have found the one blood elf soldier who won't gladly slaughter our people the instant their guard is down? Blood Watch is full of healers and traders. We must protect them."

“Speaking strictly for myself, sir, I’m more bark than I am bite. Ician and I have come to.. an understanding. I’m more willing to give your people the benefit of the doubt than I was previously.” You should probably shut up and let Ician do the talking. You’re going to end up in a cage, aren’t you?

Kuros snorts. "I will keep your 'benefit of the doubt' in mind the next time I stand over the mangled corpses of my friends."

Elysia says, "Sir, with all due respect, responding to the elf with hatred only makes my job more difficult."

"We must reach an understanding with them eventually," Ician adds.

"Not if we -- " Kuros begins, then cuts himself off, looking at Aennil.

"We shan't discuss ongoing plans in mixed company," Aesom says. "Though, Ician, I do believe we had another mission for you."

Ician half-bows. "And I will be departing on it as soon as the current discussion is resolved."

“I could help,” your lips move before your brain does, “With whatever the mission is. Or menial tasks.” You grimace when you realise your offer and how it must come across, as well as what it will mean for you if they, outlandishly, somehow, accept. “How can I make myself less terrifying to you? I mean no harm.” For the time being. You’re not sure if you’ll be killed here or if you’ll eventually be returned to your own clade (and how they will react to your capture and potential release), but from where you are now, it seems as though your presence here may be awfully long term, and you’d rather not remain on the receiving end of this kind of hatred the entire time.

"Terrifying?" Kuros says, with a harsh laugh. He almost steps forward, then catches himself. "I do not fear you, little elf."

"I'm sure I have something he can help with," Elysia says, eyes sparkling. Or, at least, her one visible eye, under the monocle she wears.

"I would tend towards a compromise," Aesom says. "Imprison him, but treat him well. See what information he can offer us."

"I concur," Boros agrees. The two vindicators in agreement turn to look at Kuros.

Oh, but you really wish he had threatened you. He was not so armoured as to resist an errant fist as Ician had been. It would get you in trouble, but by the sunwell, you’d have enjoyed it.

"Very well," Kuros says shortly. "Tie him to one of the shelters, guarded. Elysia, he'll be your responsibility. Do _not_ allow him to escape again."

"Of course, sirs." Elysia bows, then turns to Aennil. "Come along, then."

"Ician, the task we gave you _was_ rather urgent," says Aesom.

Ician bows his head. "I will depart at once."

They’re going to tie you up. You _do not_ want to be tied up. God, your fight or flight was almost activating; as it is, your feet pivot on the spot, and your knees bend just a little, like you’re getting ready to run. You’re very, very tempted to run, and it’s very, _very_ hard not to.

Their business concluded, the vindicators turn back to their individual tasks, though Kuros continues to watch -- and scowl at -- Aennil. Being rather good at her job, Elysia sees Aennil tensing to run and waves over two of the guards, who move to take his arms. Ician, meanwhile, whistles for his mount. He's delayed his current mission long enough; it's time for him to head out and locate the scout post that dropped out of communication.

You just manage to duck out of the way of the guards grasping fingers, curling in on yourself to prevent further grabbing attempts. “Don’t touch me, beasts. I know how to walk.” There’s a very defensive, almost panicked edge to your voice, but you force as much sting into it as you can anyway.

"Let him be," Elysia tells the guards. They'll have to touch him soon enough -- might as well let him have his way while he can. "Take him to Jessera's shelter -- ask Jessera if he can't double up with Lycaon for the moment. Or if he wants to share his place with a blood elf, that's no watch of mine."

As the guards start to lead Aennil away, Elysia goes back to her cage, and the supplies nearby. She'll need a length of chain and a manacle.

You glare at absolutely everyone you can, but your shoulders relax when you realise you’d yet to be tied up at all. This is, ah.. probably going to be a very interesting stay.


	2. Chapter 2

 

The night had been primarily uneventful, and while you had not had amazing food or slept excellently or as luxuriously as you had before, overall it was a clean, warm environment, and you’d gone to sleep with a full belly.

They certainly hadn’t put you to work, yet, which is a shame. You were chained, luckily not by your hands. It was a simple manacle on your ankle, and as a result, you’d freed yourself and been chained back in at least three times by morning. You’d thought about running, but that competitive nature of yours had come back. You hadn’t meant for the thought of being trusted here to become a challenge to you, but it absolutely has. That’s what you keep telling yourself.

It’s the fourth time you’ve picked your lock, and the next day, that there are some considerable consequences for your flightiness in the form of an angry, grieving Draenei woman and your very short patience.

Morae marches up to the elf while he's eating a slightly meager lunch -- food is a bit tight throughout the draenei camp, but he's not going to starve.

"I can't believe it," the draenei herbalist snaps, looking to the guards watching over Aennil more than the elf himself. "I can't believe that you would put out one of our own for one of these _brutes_ \-- that you would -- you don't deserve this food!"

She moves to knock the meal out of Aennil's hands. The guards, looking vaguely uncomfortable, do not intervene.

Meanwhile, across the camp, Ician returns from his own mission, stepping down from his mount. He goes to report to the Triumvirate.

It had only been a matter of time before something like this happens, and you’d almost been expecting it during your first meal here. You’re surprised it took so long. Quick reflexes let you save your meal and shoot the woman a glare. “So you’d rather feed it to what, the dirt? Who’s going to clean something like that up? Leave me be.”

"Better for it to land in the latrine than in your mouth," the woman says, "though I can't imagine much difference between them."

She looks to the guards again. "You let him just wander around like this? With his own home, like he's one of us? After what his kin did to Saruan, to _Galen_?"

She whirls on Aennil again. "Did you watch? Did you _help_? Did you enjoy it, when you tortured my husband to death?"

“I’m afraid I don’t know either of those names, my dear,” this is a situation you’re certainly not supposed to be in, and one your guards are absolutely supposed to de-escalate. “But if it helps soothe you, I’ve had none to do with any torture and very little to do with any murder.”

"Of course you don't know their names," Morae scoffs. "Why would you know their names? They were just more _draenei dogs_ to you, weren't they? Liar!"

She pulls a very small but very sharp knife from her belt and brandishes it at Aennil. "Call me your dear _one more time_!"

One of the guards steps forward. "Mistress Morae --"

Morae turns on her. "Don't protect him! Are you jailors or an honor guard?"

“I think they’re supposed to be jailors, but they’re awful at keeping me in my chains.” That knife, you’re sure, was in unpracticed hands, but in order to preserve the peace, instead of letting her continue with her tirade, you secure one gloved hand tight around the blade and bring your forearm harsh to her wrist, disarming her in one smooth motion. You almost consider pocketing the knife, but instead offer it, hilt first, to the guard on your left.

The guard immediately grabs Aennil's wrist rather than the knife, jerking his arm harshly down and twisting his wrist to force him to drop the knife. She pulls him forward, too, aiming an elbow at his chest, while the other guard kicks his legs out from under him. Morae, startled by the outburst of violence, steps back with a cry.

Meanwhile, Ician notices the commotion and walks over to investigate. His pace is somewhat leisurely.

You don’t manage go avoid the wrist grab, the knife dropping to the dirt beneath you, but you manage to keep your legs under you. You also manage to rather uncomfortably catch the elbow in your stomach, rather than to your sternum. “ _oof_ — come on,” You wheeze, “I was _giving_ you the _knife_!” You still definitely have the wind knocked out of you.

"Why isn't he _tied up_?" Morae demands, rubbing her wrist. "Why is he even out here? We have a cage for rats, don't we?"

"Mistress Morae, please, we're handling this," one of the guards says. The other one grabs Aennil by the shoulders and starts to drag him back into his own shelter.

Every bit of you wants to free yourself from the guards grip, and dozens of manoeuvres run through your mind, but in the end you decide it’s probably in your best interest to let yourself be manhandled in this situation, restrained or not. “Yes, Mistress Morae. It’s handled. Leave me.” You act like you’re still in control, even though you’re certainly not, being dragged as you are. “Unhand me immediately — I know how to walk!”

Morae does not leave. Instead, she marches alongside the guard, stabbing the air -- she picked up the knife -- to emphasize her points as she speaks. "We barely have enough food or space for our own and you're wasting it on the enemy? Whose idea was this?"

"Mine," Ician says, mildly, coming up behind her. "Morae, are you all right? What seems to be the problem?"

The procession approaches the little hut assigned to Aennil, and the guard not currently manhandling him goes inside and brings out the manacle attached to the chain. The other guard doesn't release Aennil despite his demands.

You poke your tongue out at her while you’re held outside of your shelter, awaiting the return of the manacle you’d only shuck off again in about an hour when you needed to use the latrine. “She tried to knife me!” You call, soothed to see Ician on the scene (and disturbed that he’s your idea of a soothing presence). “I disarmed her and now everyone’s haughty about it.”

"I will cut out your lying tongue -- " Morae begins, raising her knife and stepping towards Aennil.

Ician closes his hand around hers, the tiny knife almost vanishing under his fingers. "Morae, what are you doing? There's no call to cut out anyone's tongue."

"We're not sure how he keeps getting out," one of the guards says, as the other fastens the shackle around Aennil's ankle. "Lady Elysia said it was all right, since he hasn't tried to leave. She said to just keep a close eye on him."

“Lady Elysia— Oh, the interrogator.” You murmur, scratching your chin idly while you’re re-manacled. It would be off again within the hour. “She thinks I killed some people she knew, I think,” this, offered idly to Ician. Now that you’re manacled, you hope they stop manhandling you.

The guards, their work done, step back. They don't particularly want to touch Aennil any more than they have to. They take up positions between Aennil and where Ician and Morae stand. This does leave Aennil free to retreat into the hut, though since it's a lean-to that's open in this direction, that won't really do him any good.

"Ah, I see," Ician says, rubbing his own chin. His two tentacles sway slightly.

"What do you mean?" Morae turns to Ician, addressing him with a bit more patience than the others. "Ician, why did you say this was your idea? What do you have to do with this?"

No, you’re happy to pace away from the guards and lean against your shelter to watch the drama that may well unfold. “Yes, Ician, What _do_ you have to do with this?” Amusement dances in your eyes. Perhaps not correctly, you consider yourself safe again.

Ician shoots Aennil a look, not nearly as oblivious to the elf's tone as he might seem. Oh, but they will have _words_. As soon as Morae is comforted and sent on her way.

"Aennil is here because I made a deal with him, Morae," Ician says in his deep, soothing voice.

The soothing bit doesn't work. Morae's eyes turn sharp. "I didn't realize that you were on first-name terms, Ician, _or_ that we were making deals with the people who murdered my husband."

“I don’t know your husband, lady.” You call from the sidelines, lowering yourself to sit down on the ground instead of standing. “Whatever crime you think I am at fault of, I was likely uninvolved.” You were _mainly_ used for reconnaissance. The only murders you’d done since you got here (not very long ago) were when you were attacked on duty.

"'Likely,'" Morae snorts. "I'm sure you got to know him quite well while you were _melting_ his hooves off his body."

"That's not --" Ician begins, and Morae whirls on him.

"I don't understand!" she says. "You know what they did! You saw Galen's body -- you _told_ me I didn't want to see it, because they _mangled_ him so badly! How can you stand there and defend this ... _creature_?"

"Morae," Ician says, more firmly. "Aennil is not responsible for all the crimes of his people any more than you or I am. What's more, he _is_ currently a prisoner, if not so abject a prisoner as you may have seen before. He is here to provide us with information and to remove his use from the enemy, nothing more."

The very thought of such an act makes you feel irrevocably ill. The idea of torture in general made you sick, rolls your stomach and reminds you of some pretty terrible memories you’d much rather forget. Nobody here would believe you if you expressed your distaste, though, and you know that, at least.

“I’m an elf, dear. You can say ‘elf’. You don’t have to say ‘creature’.” Your voice is gentle but the tone behind it is sarcastic. You just can’t be nice to someone who wanted to probably stab you.

Morae almost seems calmed by Ician's words, at least until Aennil speaks. Then she pulls her hands from Ician's grasp and glares at Aennil. "What's the difference?"

"Morae, you don't mean that," Ician says patiently. "The night elves are our allies, remember? And we cannot condemn an entire race based on the current war."

The night elves are their allies? Had they already met night elves? Oh dear, these Draenei might be dangerously close to the Alliance ‘adopting’ them. That would be fairly awful. The alliance were not kind to people who are _different_. “I would barely call our battle a ‘war’.”

"Oh, I'm sure this is nothing to you." Morae's face contorts into a sneer as she looks at Aennil. "I suppose it takes the screams of two dozen slaughtered innocents to get you out of bed in the morning."

"Morae," Ician says, firmly but with sympathy. "It aids no one for you to stand here and shout at him. You are hurting yourself more than you are the enemy."

“Or one very _firm_ , very large, very _excited_ Tauren,” you shoot back, bouncing your eyebrows at her. You know you shouldn’t stir the pot, but you just can’t help yourself sometimes.

Morae makes a disgusted sound and shakes her head, beginning to turn away. To Ician, she says, "I will speak to Elysia about this. I will take this to the Triumvirate if I must!"

She gives Aennil one last long look, speaking with what is almost a smile. "I missed the last execution, but I will be there at yours, smiling as the light fades from your eyes."

Then she turns and marches off.

You make kissy sounds in her direction while She storms off, crossing one leg over the other far too casually. One might notice that the shackle is, once again, off of your leg.

“She did come at me with the intent to stab me, you know.”

Ician looks down at Aennil and sighs. "This is _not_ why I left you those lockpicks."

"You did _what_ , sir?" one of the guards says. They'd been so quiet and still that Ician had completely forgotten their presence. Well, shit.

“I’ve been making a point.” You respond, patting the grass beside you in offer. “Did you have fun on your mission?”

With a resigned expression, Ician turns to the guards. "Leave us, please."

The guards give each other doubtful looks, their confidence in Ician shaken by that lockpick comment. "Sir ..."

"If you would like to fetch the interrogator, that might be wise," Ician says. The guard nods, and she and her colleague leave quickly, not wishing to deal with Aennil any longer.

Ician sits down next to Aennil. "I'm going to need those lockpicks, Aennil."

With a full sigh, you slip off your boot and pull the rolled kit out. You’d expected this, but it’s still annoying. “I can’t keep just a few?” You already know the answer, so you pop the fabric roll onto his knee. “I’ve been good. Promise.”

"Not good enough, I fear." Ician pockets the lockpicks. He's handed Aennil's weapons off to Elysia, and he supposes that now he owes her these as well. "I didn't intend for you to be quite so ... exhibitionist about using them."

By the end of their conversation Ician is going to have to put that manacle back on Aennil, but it can wait.

“They never figured out how I was doing it,” you throw a smarmy grin towards him, “and it annoyed the guards.” You pull the jerky you’d pocketed out and offer some to Ician. You felt like you was a conspirator for you, someone you could trust, even if you know you’re about to be re-manacled without the security of your lockpicks. You suppose you’ll have to figure out another way to get free of the chains.

"I was rather hoping you would not annoy the guards." Ician considers the jerky, then takes some. He hasn't had much to eat since last seeing Aennil, being in the field. Actually, seeing the jerky reminds him that he needs to carry some supplies when he returns to the scout post, since they're running low. That return will be soon: he can't leave the outpost in its current dire straits for long. He only even returned to make sure the Triumvirate knows the scouts are still alive.

“I just can’t help myself, dear. You left me unchecked for far too long and I had a lot of energy to burn.” You start pulling apart the rest of your jerky into small pieces so you don’t have to gnaw on it. “Where’s your pretty kitty?”

"At the stables, resting." The cat has been eating better than Ician himself, since she can survive on raw bear meat. But she deserves a break. "If you're good, I'll take you to see her."

“I’ve been nothing _but_ good.” Oh, no. Ician has leverage for you now. This is going to be absolutely terrible. “I wanted to share with her, but I suppose she’s probably eating better than both of us.”

"Aye." Ician leans back, tired. "She seems to enjoy bear meat greatly, which is fortunate, since that's about all we have."

Something squirms in his pocket as he leans back, and Ician sits up, startled. He reaches into his pocket; his hand comes back out with a small, insectoid creature clamped onto the end of one finger, its yellow-green carapace twisting as it desperately tries to take down its newfound opponent.

"Oh!" Ician says. "I almost forgot about you! I could have crushed you."

“Lord. Why are you carrying a baby ravager around?” You break up your small pieces of dried meat even smaller and try to tantalise it away from Ician’s finger. “Come on, you little brat. Come here. Get off that finger.”

"I was going to give it to the science officers. They escaped from the Exodar, you know." Another way his people have ruined this island: the ravagers are vicious; they'll savage anything that moves. "I used to watch them in the menagerie as a child. I thought they were monsters."

The hatchling drops into Ician's palm and skitters towards the meat, almost biting Aennil's fingers as it snatches the crumbs away. Then it starts to scurry off into the grass, prompting Ician to grab it, more gently than his size might lead one to expect.

“Terrible invasive species or no, I think they’re cute. Can I have it?” You swipe it out of Ician’s hand with, y’know, rogueish skills, gently securing your finger and thumb around its midsection and offering it another little portion of meat. “It reminds me of my mother. I’ll name it after her. Hello, Vera.”

Ician hesitates. He _did_ mean to take it to the science officers, but then again, there are plenty of them running around the island, and the scientists probably won't learn anything new from it. "Yes. Be careful, though; they grow up nasty, and fast."

Aennil will probably have to release the hatchling in less than a year, as it becomes too large and ferocious to keep, but for now, it scarfs down the meat and twists towards Aennil's face, possibly drawn by the sound of his voice -- or possibly trying to savage him.

“Thank you! She’s adorable,” You’re fairly used to taming nasty animals, a thing you’d favoured in your youth, but you’d never encountered an alien animal. You’re not sure if the same practices will work. When it twists towards you, you squeeze just a little tighter on its midsection. “Vera. Your name is Vera. Are you going to behave for me, Vera?” The answer is no and you know it, but another of those very rare genuine smiles spreads across your features. You couldn’t help it. You were an animal lover. It’s a wonder you hadn’t grown up to be a ranger or a hunter instead.

Ician can't help smiling too -- not at the bug's antics but at the look on Aennil's face. He must be more tired than he thought, because his chest feels strange, almost painful.

As he contemplates this, wondering if he should see a healer, Elysia walks up to the two of them. She smiles and says, with apparently genuine pleasure, "Well, don't the two of you look friendly? What have you got?"

Completely unaware of Ician’s potential health concerns, you focus on the arrival of the interrogator. You’re very enthusiastic while you shove Vera almost directly into Elysia’s face. “Ician found it for me. Her name is Vera. Isn’t she cute?” You know it wasn’t found for _you_ , but she was yours now. You’re not sure if she’s a she, actually.

Elysia barely manages not to rear backwards at the sudden presence of the ravager hatchling in her face, and Vera's jaws nearly clamp shut on the monocle over Elysia's eye. Even the unflappable interrogator has trouble mustering a smile at that.

"I'm glad you're getting along," she says instead. As an excuse to move away from the bug in her face, she sits down on the grass in front of Ician and Aennil, spreading her long skirt out around her. "How was your trip, Ician?"

Ician sighs. "The scouts yet live, but they are in poor condition. I will have to manage some medical supplies for them."

You stuff the ravager in your pocket with a handful of jerky to keep it happy, and focus on the conversation at hand. “Can I help? I’m sick of being chained up and hanging around doing nothing.” You gently pet the ravager through the outside of your pocket. You have no intention of losing a finger to it just because it’s cute. “I’ve been behaving. I haven’t caused any trouble. Let me do something.”

Elysia raises an eyebrow. "You call this behaving? I just had two of my best guards babbling about lockpicks and stabby herbalists."

"Part of that may have been my fault," Ician says, with a certain level of chagrin. He'd just as soon Elysia didn't know that he left Aennil with lockpicks, but his conscience won't allow Elysia to blame Aennil for a situation he was equally responsible for.

"Oh, I'm aware," Elysia says, though she smiles as she says it. Then she refocuses on Aennil. "If you're so eager to help, I always have questions you can answer."

“I was making a point that I can behave without being chained.” You tap your finger against the side of your face, “and I had nothing to do with that. _She_ approached _me_. All I did was disarm her and I got beaten up for it,” You sniff and raise your chin haughtily, “And just because I’m bored doesn’t mean I’m going to turn traitor on a hair trigger, dear. You’ll have to try harder than that to get information out of me.”

Elysia considers Aennil a moment, her face neutral. Then she smiles and shrugs easily. "Oh well! We do have plenty of time to come to trust each other. I understand that you've been lonely, so I'll be sure to give you my full attention from this point on."

Ician coughs. "I should go. As pleasant as this has been, I can ill afford to dally, not when our scouts are counting on me."

“Pass.” You’re quick with it, eyeing her up and down, unimpressed. “I have better things to do than consort with an interrogator, as nice as I’m _sure_ you are.” You settle your gaze back on Ician again. “Are you sure I can’t come?”

"Stay," Elysia entreats Ician, at once. He pauses halfway into standing up and looks at her, surprised. "Actually, I need to talk with you for a moment. Privately." She looks at Aennil and smiles. "You don't mind, do you?"

“Go ahead.” You wave your hand towards the two, and stand up to retreat within your lean-to (to do something about this chain while they’re distracted. Perhaps the padlock?...)

"Shouldn't someone be watching him?" Ician whispers to Elysia.

"We can watch him from over here. Come." Elysia draws Ician out of earshot -- quite far out of earshot, just in case elves have keener hearing than draenei -- though she does position herself so that she can see the entrance to Aennil's lean-to. Then she turns her attention to Ician. "I'm beginning to suspect that you may be the only one who can get anything out of him, at least in any useful timeframe."

"Me?" Ician blinks. "I am no interrogator."

"No, but he has taken a shine to you and not to me. Quite a shine, in fact. You've made more progress with him in a day than I would have in weeks." Elysia sounds a bit frustrated by this. "I'm not telling you to do anything different -- whatever you're doing, it's working. But see if you can't coax a little information about him. Don't be obvious about it -- if you lose his trust now, I think that might be _it_."

"Interrogator, I cannot afford to remain in Blood Watch." Ician's head is starting to hurt. He's so tired already, without adding on the extra responsibility of subtly interrogating Aennil. "I have assignments to complete -- our people need me."

"I know. I'll talk to the Triumvirate about it. In the meantime, just keep what I said in mind, and try to hang out around him as much as you can. He might let something slip if he gets comfortable enough with you. Be nice to him. But not suspiciously nice."

Ician's not sure how he feels about that instruction -- given that he already intended to be as pleasant to Aennil as circumstances allow, it feels odd to be _ordered_ to do so. He's not a manipulative man. The idea of trying to trick Aennil bothers him, though he supposes it is the interrogator's job. And an order from a superior officer.

"Very well."

"Good. We can go back now; let's see if we can't push at him a bit together." Ician and Elysia return to the lean-to.

By the time they’re back, you’ve got the entire chain wrapped around your arm rather than anchored where it had been, and you’re hanging out just outside where your limit would had been, petting your angry ravager. “So can I go or not?” You call upon their return, assuming that was the nature of their conversation. “I’ll be good.”

Seeing the chain on Aennil's arm, Ician sighs, and Elysia lets out a little snort of laughter.

"I am not sure we could stop you," Ician says seriously.

"No, you can't go," Elysia says. But she sounds somewhat impressed as she continues: "How did you manage that? Ician, you _did_ take his lockpicks?"

"I did," Ician confirms. "And I am moderately certain that he has no others, unless he hid them _quite_ well."

“No others,” you offer a smarmy grin, “I’m a rogue. Even your cage wouldn’t have kept me long, if what I did hadn’t worked.” You offer the length of chain towards Elysia. “Are you going to take this off or try to chain me back up? It doesn’t match my outfit.”

Now Elysia sighs. "I am intelligent enough to admit defeat. I'll take the chain."

She holds out a hand for it. Ician never did manacle Aennil back in.

"Your skills are quite impressive," Elysia adds. "Where did you learn them?"

You pass her the chain. You loved showing off. “Did you expect me to answer that?” You suppose it was fairly harmless information, and maybe it’ll stop her from bugging you. “I spent my youth learning from my mother and after she left, and I grew, I trained on Sunstrider Isle. Now I’m here.”

"Sunstrider Isle. Where is that, exactly?" Elysia makes a wry face. "I'm afraid our maps are still mostly blank. All the ones our allies give us just say 'here there be dragons' ..."

"Could be accurate," Ician offers. "There are dragons over on Wyrmscale. Ghost dragons, though. I spoke to an elven spirit there who told me they were the remains of a long-lost kingdom. I had to slay their ancient enemy to lay him to rest."

Elysia looks at Ician with disbelief -- and a certain frown, that he'd impart such potentially important information in front of an enemy. Oh well, she thinks. It shouldn't matter; the elf won't have a chance to tell any of his people, not if she has anything to say about it.

"Light, Ician, but you do get around," she says aloud. She glances at Aennil. "Speaking of which, how _did_ you end up here?"

“Not on this continent, don’t you worry your little blue head.” And that’s as much as she’d get about that. You, too, level an odd stare upon Ician when he imparts upon the both of you that tale, shaking your head with obvious disbelief. “Oh, you know. Magic, probably.” That’s all she gets there, too.

Elysia smiles at Aennil's replies. She's not asking him anything she needs to know -- instead, she's trying to see whether she can catch the elf in a lie. Sunstrider's location she can check with the Alliance easily enough, and the draenei have already discovered the blood elves' portal to Bloodmyst.

"You're being so helpful today, and I forgot my notebook," she sighs, with a certain amount of sarcasm. "How will I possibly remember such gems as 'magic, probably'?"

“As well as you remember my name, dear.” You offer her an indulgent smile. “Maybe we can have a more friendly conversation over a cup of tea. Whoever has my backpack ought to have found my teabags in the front pocket.” You’re not actually sure when you’d lost that, but you certainly don’t have it now.

"I'm afraid the bears have it now," Ician says, so solemnly that he might be in mourning. "I don't recall seeing it when I found you."

"Still, a cup of tea sounds lovely. I'll go see what I can rustle up." Elysia bustles out of the lean-to, giving Ician a particular smile as she leaves.

Ician sighs yet again and sits in silence, made awkward by Elysia's earlier comments and the knowledge that she's leaving them alone in the hopes that Ician will interrogate Aennil. They don't even have any tea in Blood Watch.

“Oh, bother. I had some important keepsakes in there,” You sigh, and settle in to mourne the loss of your backpack. Now all you’ve got lies in the saddlebags on your darling mount and in Ician’s pockets. Speaking of your darling mount- you missed her. After Elysia is gone, you focus on Ician again. “So I absolutely can't go out with you? At all?”

"It doesn't seem like a good idea," Ician replies, remembering Elysia's words about Aennil being _oddly helpful_. He gives up on the careful diplomacy the interrogator wanted from him: "Do you really want to fight your own people?"

Your lips purse. “Well. No. I _know_ those people. But I figured I could always, I don’t know, Hunt food or something for supply runs.” You hadn’t thought that helping might mean fighting your own clade.

Ician closes his eyes for a moment, thinking of the day's journey. He wasn't even _trying_ to fight the blood elves today and he still had to cut a couple of them down: they attacked him just as he moved around the isle.

"Do you have any skill with herbs, or bandages?" Ician asks after a moment's thought. "We can always use more medicines."

And making bandages or potions is something Aennil can do under supervision, without leaving Blood Watch.

“I’ve skill with herbalism.” You made your own salves and poisons. You’d not focused your talents on medicines, for the most part, but you suppose you always could! “And basic first aid training. Most in my clade do, because it’s really important.”

"We might be able to set you to work there," Ician says, more to give Aennil some hope than because he really believes they will. After all, potions can also be poisons ... Ician closes his eyes again, because that feels good: they ache, heavy-lidded. A moment later he realizes he's probably been silent for too long and scrambles to find something else to talk about. "Was your mother a rogue as well? You said she taught you how to pick locks. You are quite good at it."

“That might be nice. I’m itching to do _something_ ,” you complain, but trail off when you watch Ician begin to relax- he seems exhausted, and you want to be quiet and let him. It also gives you a chance to properly examine him. If you get past the tentacles and the plate on the forehead, his features aren’t entirely unfamiliar; and, you’ll admit, not unattractive. With the dusty blue skin and the beautifully sculpted muscles (your weakness, you’ll admit), if the situation was different, you may have found yourself flirting with him. “I don’t know what she was, but she taught me most of what I know. I haven’t seen her in many years.”

"A pity," Ician says. He thinks of his own family: his father, who works peacefully on the Exodar, and his papa, who died years ago -- it must be six or seven by now. Papa was working on his certification as a crystal mage when he died. He always was curious about everything, interested in everything ...

Ician starts awake, realizing that he's almost drifted off thinking of his family. "You come from very far away, then? A different continent?"

“Yes. The north of the eastern kingdoms. I was raised in the Eversong forest. Are you okay? You seem tired. You can rest, if you’d like. It’s probably a good idea. Sleeplessness will give you terrible bags under your eyes, and I’d hate to see you ruin your complexion.”

Ician shakes his head. He's tired, but he has a duty to keep Aennil talking -- and he will always put his duty first. "I'm fine. What's the forest like? Is it like the one here? Until we landed, I'd only seen pictures."

“The Eversong... it’s beautiful.” A wistful smile. “It’s similar, but different. I’m ashamed to say my people have hurt it. The explosion of the Sunwell has effected us all immensely.”

"The Sunwell?" Ician perks up a little, curious. He's never heard of such a thing, though he does remember that the blood elves he's killed have done a lot of yelling about the sun. Sun-something. Sunhawk? Sunchaser? He can't remember, but it wasn't Sunwell.

“Our Sunwell. The thing that bathed us in its light and granted us most of our arcane strength. The Scourge... they tainted it. To survive, we had to destroy it, or we all would have died. It was a terrible tragedy.” Your face is grim while you talk about it. “Our magic was ripped away from us. Our culture was destroyed. Now we are... limited, incredibly, in what we can do. Bathing in the light of the Sunwell was equitable to eating, or breathing. We need it, and now, we are without it.”

"I'm so sorry," Ician says, with genuine sympathy. He doesn't know what the Scourge is, but he doesn't have to ask to understand the concept of evil. Unable to offer any words equal to the state of the tragedy, he reaches out to place a comforting hand on Aennil's shoulder, then stops, remembering how many times Aennil has screamed for the draenei not to touch him. Instead Ician bows his head in silence for a moment.

He adds, quietly, almost to himself, "Perhaps our people have more in common than they do apart."

In response to his hesitance, and to let him know perhaps you’re responding positively after all, you shuffle as if getting comfortable, and end up closer to let his hand make contact with your shoulder. It’s put you close enough for your thighs to be touching, but that’s fine. A little thigh touch never hurt anyone. “Maybe so.” Not for the first time, you wish your culture had more of an ‘ask first fight later’ policy, but after the aforementioned tragedy with the Sunwell, that was very, very hard. Nobody wanted to trust outsiders.

Ician almost jumps when Aennil approaches him, more surprised than anything. And he still remembers Elysia's warning about the elf. But after a moment's tension, he leans against Aennil slightly: not enough to place his not-inconsiderable weight on the elf, but enough to provide a comforting pressure, he hopes. He's not used to being this close to someone so small.

After a long moment, Ician says quietly, "I should go."

He does need to rest. Heading to the inn will be safer than trying to camp out in the forest, as cramped as quarters there are.

“You should probably go and rest. Where do you stay?” You lean back into him to offer the same reassurance and also potentially because you want to prop him up or have a better kind of leverage if he passes out on you.

"In the inn. It's just down the hill." Ician yawns. "You probably saw it while you were running around yesterday. It and the exarch's tower are the only large buildings in Blood Watch."

Even then, the inn isn't really large enough to fit all the homeless draenei crowding into it. Ician is probably guaranteed a decent spot, well-regarded as he is, but he'll have other draenei crammed in practically on top of him. Possibly literally on top of him, if it's a bad night.

“It was awful crowded.” And it seemed like that was a regular occurrence. You’re surprised you’ve got your own lean-to when even Ician sleeps in the inn. You suppose you couldn’t be trusted to rest around so many Draenei, though. “You can stay here, if you’d like.”

Ician almost puts a sleepy arm around Aennil and remembers at the last moment just who he's sitting next to. He turns the movement into a stretch, muscles moving under his skin. "I couldn't ..."

He wants to. Putting aside any concern about the inn being crowded, he's actually quite comfortable and very much does not want to get up. He doesn't even want to move to Jessera's pallet on the other side of the little lean-to. Considering that his other option is an even thinner pallet on the hard inn floor, the ground is plenty soft.

Ician thinks of Elysia's warning and then decides, oh, to hell with it. If Aennil smothers him in his sleep at least he'll get a nice long rest.

"Oh, all right." Yawning again, Ician slides down onto the floor, half-collapsing onto it. "Wake me in a couple hours, please. I have to get back to work."

He's asleep almost before he finishes talking.


	3. Chapter 3

 

It's been five days. The draenei set Aennil to work soaking bandages in an herbal mixture for healing -- it's a tedious, menial task, but they figure that with the worst will in the world he can't actually hurt anyone that way. The guards keep him in his lean-to as much as they can, bringing him the supplies for his work and taking away the finished result. About three times a day, Elysia drops in with more questions, couched in the friendliest, most casual way possible.

Ician spent most of these five days out of Blood Watch, running more missions for the good of his people. But he's quietly started staying at Aennil's lean-to when he is in Blood Watch, rather than going to the inn. The other draenei now refer to it as Ician's shelter, in fact, since it's easier than admitting that they gave an entire lean-to to a prisoner.

Currently, Ician and his mount both lie in the shelter, sleeping deeply despite the fact that it's midmorning -- he's been keeping irregular hours and only got in shortly after dawn. His mount curls up next to him, also sleeping.

There's a commotion coming from across the camp: a group of draenei soldiers clustered around Elysia's cage.

Lazing, rather than working, had become your favourite activity only a short few days after you’d begun your new job. Whether it be in the shade of your lean-to or on the grass nearby, you could be caught relaxing (with angry chittering coming from a pocket) most days. You’re outside on one of these days, almost sleeping, when you hear the commotion from across camp. With an annoyed yawn, you sit up to watch the happenings; you’re not surprised Elysia is involved in the drama, but you’re surprised when you consider it may well mean there’s another prisoner. After only a few moments of consideration, you stand, and wander across the camp to the group, peaking over or around shoulders to see what’s going on.

Aennil arrives just as the guards manage to dump the new prisoner in the cage -- the otherwise empty cage: the female blood elf who was there when Aennil arrived is nowhere to be seen. As the door swings shut, the soldiers start to disperse -- and Elysia catches sight of Aennil.

"Ah, hello," she says with a winning smile. "I was just going to come looking for you."

The new prisoner seems miserable enough, the fight clearly all out of them already; still plenty of flares and harsh words to go around, much like you’d provided, but they certainly hadn’t punched the one putting them in the cage like you had. Had you looked that pathetic when you’d been cursing everyone around you? “Who’s your new friend?” You shoot towards the interrogator, “I thought you might have learned by now that blood elves don’t like cages. We excel when we’re free-range.”

"I'm just about to find out," Elysia says with a smile. "Unless you want to ask for me."

She gives an exaggerated sigh. "Draenei don't like war, but here we are ... Do you? You haven't exactly offered us much so far."

“Personally not a fan.” You offer, and glance at the cage. “I’m not going to help you interrogate one of my fellows. Where did you find him?” Is he injured? You crouch down by the cage to inspect, and slip from the more common language to one specific to the blood elves of the Eversong woods. “Are you Alright?” The other elf responds in a way you hadn’t expected; he spits at your feet and sneers, like you were just another of his captors instead of a fellow prisoner. You suppose he _is_ in a cage and you _are_ walking around freely. With a perturbed frown, you back up and stand again. “Well, you’ve got a nasty one here, haven’t you? Not nearly as polite as I am. I should be your favourite prisoner by now.”

"You've been my favorite prisoner all along," Elysia says with apparent sincerity, fluttering her eyelashes at Aennil. Then she flutters a hand at him as well. "But if you're not going to help, I'm afraid I can't just sit around and play with you. I have work to do now. Run along, would you?"

“But playing with me is fun, and you owe me tea. Where’s the girl I was caged with?” You can’t believe you hadn’t noticed her missing already. “Did she get out when I did? I hope she made it back to camp.”

"The tea might be a long-term debt, I fear, our supplies being what they are." Elysia pouts, then resolves her face into a more neutral expression. "We sent her to the Exodar. The exarchs are building a little collection of enemy soldiers there."

_And you could be part of it,_ Elysia doesn't say. She still has hopes of getting more information out of Aennil, but if those hopes go unanswered much longer, she'll send him away just to get him away from Ician. She doesn't like how most of Ician's time in Blood Watch is now spent at the elf's side. Of course, he is sleeping for about three-quarters of that time, but even that's not good.

"You could at least tell your friend how pleasant life can be here if you cooperate," Elysia suggests.

“The Exodar?” You perk up at this new information, sharp, glowing green eyes settling on the Draenei woman. “What’s That?” Knowing they had a collection of you and yours also settled a panic in your chest. A gathering of enemy soldiers could only be done for genocide or mass torture. Nothing else made sense. “I doubt he’d listen. He doesn’t know me as anything more than a random blood elf wandering freely around the demon’s camp. There’s nothing I can do to help you.”

"I imagine you'll find out soon enough." Elysia smiles, her voice remaining very pleasant, completely nonthreatening. At least, in tone. "Now shoo. Run back to Ician; you can ask him if you like."

Elysia turns to the blood elf in the cage, addressing him instead of Aennil. "Hello there! Welcome to Blood Watch."

You huff, but do, indeed, head back to your lean-to while Elysia focuses on her fresh prisoner, to mull over the threat you’d been given.

The new prisoner delivers only a sneer, remaining as mute as he’d been since he got here. He may well be a tough cookie to crumble.

Inside the lean-to, Ician stirs but doesn't wake. Next to him, his mount yawns and stretches her front legs, unsheathing her deadly claws as she stretches her paws.

Elysia continues her interrogation, still thinking about Aennil -- and using his example to try and persuade the other blood elf to talk. She tells him that he, too, can get out of the cage if he cooperates as Aennil has, calling Aennil by name, since she learned his real name from Ician. If that creates some problems for Aennil should this prisoner ever make it back to the blood elves, well, all the better.

You end up just petting the big kitty, careful of her great big claws.

The blood elf in the cage listens to Elysia’s spiel, and finally opens his mouth to speak. It won’t be the words Elysia was hoping for. “Matis will know when I don’t return. He will find this place and he will retrieve me.” Whether or not the elf truly believes that or not isn’t obvious. He’s just a soldier, another warrior in an army of them. More likely, losses would be cut and the missing blood elves - now including Aennil and this one - would be marked KIA.

"Matis is dead," Elysia says calmly. "No one is coming for you, any more than they've come for any of the other prisoners, or Matis himself."

Back in the lean-to, Ician wakes, yawning, and pets the cat beside him. It takes him a moment to register Aennil's presence, but it doesn't surprise him. He sits up.

“Morning, sunshine. I’m surprised you’re already awake.” You sneak a piece of fruit you’d swiped from your pocket and offer it to the paladin. You were nothing if not a wonderful provider. Plus, you get most of your kicks out of stealing mostly unnecessary things from around camp. You had quite a collection shoved in the nooks and crannies of your armour.

"Mm. Thank you." Ician takes the fruit, sitting with his hooves splayed out before him while he eats it. His mount perks up her ears and rests her head on his knee, purring, tail lashing. "Is it noon yet? I can ill afford to dally. I'm to kill the demon leading the nearby satyrs."

You peek outside of the lean-to at the sun. “Not yet. You’ve still a few hours before noon. Lunch isn’t made yet.” You’re happy to lean over and scratch the big cat behind her ears. “Hello, sweetie. Did you have a good nap, too?” You use the traditional baby-voice for animals.

"Oh, good." Ician yawns and then smiles to watch Aennil interact with the cat, who raises and twists her big head to make him scratch under her jaw instead. Oddly enough, Ician feels content right now, despite the war and environmental destruction on the island, his own overwork, and everything else on his mind.

More than happily, you switch to where the kitty presumably has an itch, using both hands to love on the big beast. “So, Elysia has a new prisoner to replace the missing girl,” you start, conversationally, despite the uncomfortable pit of worry that had long since settled in your stomach.

"Ah," Ician says, his contentment fading at the reminder of their relative situations. He hesitates. For the sake of the war effort, he hopes the new prisoner is more informative than the last one -- or, indeed, Aennil himself. But that doesn't seem like the right thing to say to Aennil. "Do you know them?"

“No. Not all blood elves know each other, Ician,” You sigh, “indeed, he doesn’t seem to like me. Likely because I’m out here and he’s in there.” You produce another piece of fruit from your other sleeve to chow down on yourself. “What’s the Exodar?”

Ah, he has a point. Rather than apologize for the assumption, Ician looks at Aennil with wide, innocent eyes and says, deadpan, "All draenei know each other. We are required to take yearly tests in which we match each other's names and faces."

Ician takes another bite of fruit, his tentacles curling and uncurling as he thinks with vague sadness about Aennil's situation, and that of the other blood elf. Light knows he wouldn't like to be stuck in an enemy camp, unable to help his people. In fact, the thought makes him wonder why Aennil hasn't left yet -- the draenei haven't exactly been able to contain him. Ician has no doubt that if he truly wanted to, Aennil could escape easily. Unless, of course, Elysia is right about an ulterior motive for his presence in Blood Watch.

"The Exodar is our ship, the vessel that carried us through the cosmos to Azeroth." Ician looks up at the lean-to itself. "We sit in a piece of it now. The main body of the ship crashed, intact, on Azuremyst, and now serves as our capital."

You side-eye him suspiciously; you like to think you’re becoming familiar with Ician’s sense of humour. You apply your fist very gently to his shoulder. “Your capital? Okay. Why are they sending all the blood elves they capture there? Elysia kind-of threatened to send me.” You don’t particularly want to die and if your people are being collected and tortured there.. well. You couldn’t stand for it.

Ician can't help but smile slightly at that soft punch, his eyes warm as he looks at Aennil. Then he sobers at the question. "I do not know."

He taps his chin, thinking. "You've seen what facilities we have here -- they are not suited for long-term imprisonment. I would imagine that we have more secure prisons on the Exodar, though I haven't seen them myself."

Ician frowns at the idea of Aennil being sent away. Logically, he knows that the elf can't stay here forever, or even for a substantial period of time. But something in him doesn't like the thought -- or the idea of Elysia threatening him at all. "I can speak to Elysia. I would like to know what the long-term plan for prisoners is."

“I don’t like the idea of so many prisoners of war being amassed in one place. It only leads to genocide.” You mutter, “your girlfriend sucks.” Maybe she was jealous that Ician was spending so much time with you rather than her, but she seemed like the kind of person who would understand work over leisure. She didn’t _seem_ the petty type, but you suppose you hadn’t known her long enough to judge.

Ician blinks and actually physically recoils a bit. He would say he's not sure whether the casual accusation of genocide or the idea of Elysia as his girlfriend bothers him more, but actually, he knows instantly: it's the genocide thing. That definitely grabs his attention more than any relationship concern.

"Genocide? No," Ician says, vehemently. With his rather intimidating features, it would be easy to take the intensity in his voice for anger. Maybe it _is_ anger. "My people do not kill prisoners. Nor would we _ever_ seek the extinction of an entire race."

You actually recoil when he responds with such intensity, assuming you’d upset him somehow. “Your people killed Matis, and he was an important leader. I doubt they’d dally killing a few lowly soldiers. I don’t think your fellows are as honorable as you believe them to be.” They can’t be. There’s no reason to amass such a large collection of war prisoners _without_ alternative plans.

"Matis was a monster," Ician says with deep conviction. "We executed him for his crimes against our people. He bragged about torturing us even as the Vindicator struck him down."

Actually, in calmer moments Ician knows that the Vindicator shouldn't have killed Matis like that, in the middle of his trial -- he should have waited until the scheduled execution, to ensure the elf's death was a matter of law and morality rather than a personal vendetta. But, given the charged nature of the situation, Ician can't really blame Kuros for leaping forward.

Ician is angry now, hot emotion welling up in his chest -- not really _at_ Aennil, but at the blood elves in general, and this terrible war. The mention of Matis reminds Ician of some of the things he's seen them do. His face curls in a sneer as he stops himself from uttering the retort that springs to mind: _What would you know about honorable fellows, Aennil?_

“You don’t have to tell me that. I already know,” you snap back, just as hotly charged and irritated. “Us lowly soldiers don’t get to choose who leads us. We just follow. We don’t have options. I’m glad he’s dead, don’t get me wrong, but I don’t understand why you’d kill him and not the ones he made to commit atrocities,” despite being under his thumb for only a few weeks at most, you’d been ordered to kill people you never would have, to make poisons for tasks you were never told about. You can’t imagine what was forced upon the rest of your fellows- and you can’t even claim that they didn’t enjoy it. War never changed, and it was always terrible.

"Those who committed atrocities _will_ be punished for them, orders or no orders," Ician says hotly. It doesn't occur to him that he might very well be referring to Aennil himself. He's come to trust the elf -- he can barely see him as an enemy, let alone a cruel one. "Following orders is no excuse for such actions. There are always other options."

“Then kill me. I’ve murdered. I’ve made unimaginably painful poisons and I don’t know what they’ve been used for.” You spit back, “It doesn’t matter if I was under orders, right? So kill me.”

Ician reels back as if struck. "I don't -- "

He doesn't know what to think. Aennil's words shouldn't come as a surprise at all, let alone feel this shocking.

You stand up and present yourself entirely to him, arms spread at your side and a fiery expression on your face. “Do it. Follow your laws and prove me right.”

Ician stands slowly. Still on the ground, his mount growls, glancing between the two of them and picking up on the tension between them. She may not understand what they're saying, but she can catch their tones, and she doesn't like the atmosphere.

Ician isn't even wearing his sword -- it's bundled away with his shield at the side of the lean-to. Still, he puts a hand on his hip where it would hang as he considers Aennil, waiting a long moment before speaking. "No. Our laws state that everyone deserves a fair trial."

“Coward. You cant even deliver your own justice.” You spit, crossing your arms over your chest and settling a heated glare wholly on the paladin. “You should’ve just killed me when you found me in that trap. Then, at least, I wouldn’t have been so _disappointed_.” You angrily grab your bandage-making gear and storm off. You’ve not got far to go, but you’ll go sit outside and work, even just to have the satisfaction of storming off.

Ician stands very still for a moment, retorts running through his mind. _Death isn't justice._ No. _I've delivered that "justice" to dozens of your comrades._ No! _We don't kill the helpless._ No, he's said that already.

What does Aennil have to be disappointed in? He thought them all demons when he arrived. From there, anything ought to be upwards movement. Light, now that the argument is over Ician doesn't even really understand what it was about, or how it possibly escalated to the point of Aennil challenging Ician to kill him. He usually has much better control over himself and his emotions; it's rare for him to speak in anger at all, let alone so hastily. How did Aennil get under his skin so badly?

Part of Ician wants to go after Aennil; the rest wants to just hop on his mount and leave Blood Watch for a good long while.

The cat looks up at Ician and whines, upset by the argument. Automatically, Ician pets her head. "Don't worry, sweetheart. Everything's going to be fine."


	4. Chapter 4

Overall, your experience after the argument with Ician had gone from ‘pretty shitty’ to ‘really fucking bad’ in a matter of hours, despite what the blue man had said to his big ol’ cat. It had been only shortly after he’d left that you’d been pulled away from your work; after only a short conversation with Elysia you’d been strapped to a beast and flown to what you’re assuming was the Exodar; a big hulking mass of the same terrifying crystal and metal and stone. You hadn’t entirely had much of a chance to see the outside; you’d been taken directly inside to what smelt like it had been a menagerie, and then further, into a very small room. You’ve been chained, hands and legs both, for you don’t know how long; the days started to blur together after the first few terrible attacks. Not of the physical kind, really; a weakness of your own, from the inside, has left you a sweating, starving mess, aching with your convulsions and the migraine you’d earned. Nothing about your current situation was good. You almost wish Ician had killed you on that trap, or that you’d taken any of the many opportunities you’d had to flee.

Ician spent three days largely away from Blood Watch this time, returning only briefly for supplies and orders and naps at the inn -- whatever had made him comfortable enough to sleep in Aennil's lean-to was gone. Until the third day, when he decided it was time to face the music. He could have stayed away, but his conscience would not allow him to avoid a duty simply because it was unpleasant, and Elysia had asked him to get information out of Aennil. Besides, he missed his earlier easy camaraderie towards the elf, and he was too stubborn to simply let it go without a fight.

He burst into the lean-to without introduction, arguments already on his lips, and then stopped in confusion to find the draenei Jessera of Mac'cree half-dressed and very startled within.

"Can I ... help you?" Jessera said.

"Where's Aennil?"

"Who?"

"The elf who was here before."

Jessera shrugged. "They told me a couple days ago I could come back. Bit relieved at that: Lycaon snores."

Ician stared at Jessera in utter confusion. Then he turned and left the lean-to without another word. _Elysia. She'll know what happened._ A crawling sensation started to spread across Ician's skin. _They can't have put him back in the cage; they wouldn't have put him back in the cage. I made an oath._

Ician didn't bother with a greeting for Elysia either. "Where's Aennil?"

Elysia looked at Ician with unreadable eyes. For a long moment she was silent; then: "I'm not going to tell you that."

Ician's tentacles lashed at the air. "What?"

"Look at you! I knew you were getting too attached to him, but this is ridiculous." Elysia crossed her arms. "He's the enemy, Ician. If you're this worried about him, he was winning, and it's vital that you be separated."

Ician barely listened to her. "He didn't vanish into thin air. What did you do with him, Elysia?"

Elysia frowned at the informality. "I transferred him to another location."

"You sent him to the Exodar." Ician remembered their last conversation, what Aennil believed awaited the blood elves at the Exodar. _Shit_.

"Yes. And now he's not your problem anymore." Elysia watched Ician carefully. "You know he will be treated well. We don't abuse prisoners. There's no other reason for you to continue to involve yourself with him."

Ician can't disagree, but ... He subsided. "All right. I understand."

"Good. Thank you, Ician." Elysia turned away.

As soon as Ician left Blood Watch on another mission, he used his hearthstone to return to the Exodar.

Finding Aennil on the Exodar was more difficult than Ician hoped. It was easy enough to trade on his military status to get into the menagerie, now closed to the public (good: Ician instinctively hated the idea of draenei civilians gawking at the blood elf prisoners as if they were animals). But he didn't see Aennil among the prisoners there, a fact that made something very like fear rise in Ician's throat. He wasn't sure what exactly he'd planned to do when he found Aennil, considering that the elf _was_ rightfully a prisoner. Possibly just make sure he was all right and reassure him a little. But not finding him made Ician suddenly sure that he _did_ need help. No one he asked with Aennil's description seemed to know where he was, or even to care. He justified his search by telling his fellow soldiers that he needed to interrogate this particular blood elf, but it was almost a full day before one draenei happened to remember a blood elf with blue hair in solitary confinement. She directed Ician to the proper channels, and soon Ician stood before the door to Aennil's cell, his chest tight.

He takes a deep breath as the door slides open.

was fairly visible that you were a mess, as soon as Ician opens the door. Even in Blood Watch your hair had never been so messy, glued to your face with sweat; your wrists and ankles were torn and bloody from your own convulsions and attempts to free yourself. You’d somehow managed to shuck your shirt up to the point where you were tangled immeasurably, clearly in an attempt to cool yourself in a panic induced haze. Currently, you laid against a wall, legs sprawled as far as they’ll go, head lolled forward. You barely look like you’re even breathing, with your breaths so shallow. You think the last time you’d been in such a terrible state had been when you’d been under the knife of Matis himself, long before you’d joined the armies of the Horde.

Any composure Ician might have gathered flies to pieces instantly on seeing Aennil. He charges into the room, crouching down at Aennil's side and putting a hand on his face to tip it upwards. "Aennil? Aennil!"

The guards escorting Ician stand nonplussed in the doorway, visibly confused by Ician's reaction.

It takes you almost a full ten seconds to free yourself from the wispy tendrils of dissociation enough to recognise Ician, which may not seem like all that long until you’re counting it down, waiting in the moment. “You said I’d not be put in a cage again,” you mumble; your lips are torn from your own teeth and your voice is hoarse. It’s insane to think that this much damage had happened in only six days. “I’ll be good.”

_Shit. Shit. Shit!_ Ician leans in close to Aennil, close enough to feel the sickly heat radiating off the elf's body, speaking almost directly into his ear. "I'm going to get you out of here."

Then Ician whirls on the guards. "Why is he chained like this? Who allowed him to get into this state?"

One guard shrugs. "We were told he was an escape artist."

"It's not our lookout what he does to himself," says the other.

Ician rockets to his feet, furious. Without his knowledge, his face twists into a horrifying mask as he looms over the second guard, who takes a step back. "It is if he can't give me any information because of it! Get these chains off at once."

The guards look at each other. "You don't have the authority for that."

Ician might be ruling the roost in Blood Watch, but here he's just another soldier. He's been lucky to even get this far. He grinds his teeth. "Then get me whoever does, quickly."

Without waiting for a reply, he returns to Aennil, wrapping his arms around the elf and pulling him onto his lap as much as the chains will allow. "Shh, shh, you've been good. This isn't your fault."

Ician’s evident anger, in your addled state, had you curling up on yourself, fearing that it may well be directed at you; if you’d been in anything of a proper state of mind you’d know it certainly wasn’t, but at this point, you were barely even truly conscious.

When he returns to you, even though in the back of your mind you’re aware it’s for comfort, you still recoil from the touch, and from the sound of the jangling chains; certainly you did not uncurl from the ball you’d assumed, resembling a hedgehog far too much. The only potentially encouraging thing about your reaction is the stream of muttered curses directed at everyone here who dared do this to you.

Even with Aennil curled into a ball Ician keeps him on his lap, his own body curled protectively around the elf. Ician strokes his back and murmurs comforting nothings until the draenei in charge arrives. She looks over the scene and raises an eyebrow at Ician's position. "Can I help you, soldier?"

Ician carefully puts Aennil down and stands to speak to the officer. "I came to interrogate this elf and look at the state he's in. Is this what we do to prisoners? Leave them in their chains until they're bloody and broken?"

The officer frowns, stepping closer to examine Aennil. "What else do you suggest? We were told he would escape given any leeway."

"Release him into my custody," Ician says. "I'll take personal responsibility for any potential escape; it won't come back onto you. And I hope I might still be able to get some information out of him."

"Ma'am, there's something you should know," says one of the guards, looking askance at Ician.

The officer sighs and nudges Aennil slightly with a hoof. In that moment, Ician could happily snap her neck. "He looks like he'll die if we leave him here, and that's no good to anyone. I'll get the paperwork."

Even though the touch of Ician had not really been helping overmuch, you still react when it’s gone, raising your head and making only the saddest of sounds. It’s fairly clear you’re not overly aware of yourself to anyone who knew you, for you would never have reacted like this beforehand.

Your entire helpless demeanour changed when the hoof even comes within inches of you; you’re up and scrambling to get away, but the chains pull you immediately back to where you’d been with a sickening sound. It’s not as if you could really stand all too well anyway, and you just let your knees give out, although you were still clearly trying to get away from the female Draenei.

You were in a _state_ , and it was definitely not a good one.

Unconcerned by Aennil's attempts to avoid her, the officer leaves the room, and one of the guards follows her, doubtless to tell her about Ician's odd behavior. Ician doesn't care as long as they come back with the keys to these chains. He crouches down in front of Aennil, carefully putting a hand on the back of the elf's neck and trying to meet his eyes. "Aennil? It's all right. You're almost out. Just hold on for another minute."

The officer comes back with the keys, and Ician snatches them from her hand, ignoring the paperwork that she actually intended to give him. The officer's eyes narrow; clearly she's having doubts about Ician. He still doesn't care. He's getting Aennil out of here if he has to fight through his own comrades to do it.

Ician starts unlocking the chains, throwing them away from Aennil as they come off.

Ician gets no real reaction from you besides a vacant stare.

Even with the chains off you stay on the ground, folded up uselessly. _Obediently_. It’s like they’d gotten the result of torture without even touching you. If you were aware enough, you’d hope that they’d feel bad about it. As it is, you pivot your lost gaze not towards Ician but towards the officer. You recognise her as the figure of authority in the room right now, so her word was what would go.

Ician desperately wants to hold Aennil, but given his prior reaction and the officer's gaze on him, he restrains himself. Instead, he touches Aennil's chest gently and uses Gift of the Naaru to heal him, making the wounds on his wrists disappear. If only it were so easy to reverse the imprisonment's other effects...

"Let's get you out of here." Ician starts to pick up Aennil as he would a child, but then remembers Aennil's past protests and stops. "Can you walk?"

There’s little response immediately after the healing, but by the time he’s speaking again, you’re able to piece together the request and slowly rise to first your knees, and then slowly to your feet. The bruises and aches from earlier are gone, so it makes it far easier for you to remain upright; you’re still shaking, but you’re upright. Mutely, you nod. Yes. You can stand up.

Ician's heart aches at Aennil's mute obedience: no argument, no witty response. He puts a gentle hand on Aennil's shoulder to steer him along. "Let's go."

The officer moves out of their way, standing against the wall of the little cell. The guards in the doorway don't, not until Ician gives them a fearsome glare.

This time, there’s no flinch when he touches you. Excruciatingly slowly, you’re coming around; in the very least, you recognise Ician as familiar and safe(ish), so you’re happy to let him steer you out of the room. Your steps are a little staggering, but considering it’s amazing you can even remember how to walk while you’re in this kind of mental state, you think you’re doing pretty damn well.

The officer follows Ician and Aennil out of the cell, still holding the paperwork that Ician is supposed to fill out. Seeing the other cell doors in the corridor, Ician pauses and turns to her. "Are there other prisoners in the same state? Suffering like this?"

"Look," the officer says, her tone matter-of-fact but not entirely without sympathy. She folds the paperwork and slips it into her pocket. "Take your elf and get out of here before anyone asks too many questions."

She didn't answer the question, but Ician recognizes what she's giving him: clearly, she realizes he cares more about Aennil than he should, but she's decided to look the other way. And without the paperwork, it'll be far more difficult for anyone to hold Ician accountable for Aennil's whereabouts; he can do whatever he likes. (A frightening concept, if he held any malice in his heart.) The guards witnessing this look skeptical, and one says, "Ma'am ..." but a look from the officer silences them. Ician, and Aennil, are free to go.

Being out of the cell is like a shock to your system; there’s air, and you can breathe again after what seems like so, so long, fresh(ish) air being pulled into your lungs after one, big breath, blowing out past your lips with audible volume, a relieved sigh. It’s like you’d been half-choked since you’d been in that room and you’d finally had a weighty collar removed. Your body relishes the space around you, and even if it’s only a hallway, you could almost cry with relief if even the mere thought of actively doing something fled from you like butterflies chased by children. You cannot _wait_ to get out of the Exodar. It had absolutely been as terrible as you thought it would be.


	5. Chapter 5

 

Ician steers Aennil down the corridor, mind racing as he realizes he has no idea what to do now. He didn't plan for any of this, and he doesn't know where to take Aennil in his current condition. Somewhere quiet and private, he decides. That rules out Ician's bunk in the paladins' barracks: he shares the room with five other men. He could take a room at the inn, the Exobar: it's far larger and better furnished than the inn in Blood Watch. But the Exobar is a long way away, across very public areas of the ship, and Ician isn't sure Aennil can make it that far in his current state. That leaves only one option: Ician can take Aennil to his father's quarters, which are closer. He thinks -- he hopes -- his father will be at work right now.

As Ician escorts Aennil out, they come to the once-public areas of the menagerie, the habitats that used to hold beasts. Now they hold almost two dozen blood elves, imprisoned in groups behind the glass. None of the guards give Ician and Aennil a second glance, not here in the menagerie, though Ician imagines they'll inspire much more interest outside the prison. But some of the elves look up.

There’s a pitying gaze settled on every other elf that dare meets your eye, and a sad smile for those who return any sort of contact. You can’t help them and they know it as much as they couldn’t have helped you. (You try not to think about the familiar faces you see.)

It’s about half way through the mess of corridors and halls that you finally manage to gather enough words to say something about anything that isn’t just swearing under your breath, and it’s probably not something Ician is going to want to hear. “I’m about to throw up.”

"All right," Ician says, his voice slightly grim: the reality of the situation is truly starting to sink in now. Forcing himself to focus on the immediate problem, he looks around. Far be it from the Exodar to have a convenient potted plant: the hallway is bare. It's also free of observers, though, so Ician figures they'll just have to leave a mess for someone else to deal with. "Go ahead. I'll hold your hair."

With permission granted, you stagger against the wall, acid already tossing uncomfortably in your stomach. You haven’t got much to throw up, and you’re not very well hydrated, so for the longest time it’s just some dry heaving and when something comes, it’s just bile. They hadn’t been purposefully starving you or keeping water from you, but you’d been ill able to eat in your state. You’d barely even noticed when food was brought into your room besides savouring the rare breeze it brought that allowed you even a few moments of vague lucidity.

At least after your session, you seem more alert; you’re cold and clammy rather than red and sweaty like you had been, but there’s more life in your eyes. _That_ was the real shock to your system, the exorbitant amount of energy required to heave as you had having you breathing harder and your heart pumping faster. “ _Your girlfriend sucks_ ,” you manage, scrubbing at your cheeks with your hands to try and warm them up again. You still certainly feel fairly loopy and zany and awfully dulled, but in the very least, you’re properly _aware_ again.

"Who?" Ician says, too distracted and worried to be clever and realize what Aennil means. He spent the vomiting session running his fingers through Aennil's hair, his own stomach clenching. Now he has to resist the urge to reach out and stroke the elf's face. Aennil is alert enough to talk again; that'll have to satisfy Ician for the moment.

“The... interrogator. Elysia,” you grumble, leaning into the vague touch you’re offered. When you’re done throwing up the meagre contents of your stomach, you have to lean rather heavily against Ician to remain upright. “She sucks.”

Ician puts an arm around Aennil, supporting him. Ician's muscles are tight, his whole body tense, though just touching Aennil does make him feel a little better about the situation. Not much: he can feel Aennil shaking, the clamminess of his skin.

"I don't think she would have done this if she'd known this would be the result," Ician says, not thinking clearly enough to realize that's probably nowhere near what Aennil needs to hear right now. He even misses the chance to deny that Elysia is his girlfriend.

“Then we have vastly differing opinions of her. I need to sit down. I can’t feel my legs.” The shaking was everpresent, and you’d shaken yourself right into pins and needles territory. Or perhaps it was the cold. They’d taken your armour, so you were left in only your thin underclothes, a linen shirt and some cotton tights. Considering how much colder the north of Kalimdor was compared to the north of the eastern kingdoms, you weren’t exactly prepared for the chilly weather.

Ician releases Aennil and helps him sit against the wall, as far away from the little puddle of bile as he thinks Aennil can get in his current state. He looks around the empty corridor as he does so and crouches down beside Aennil, hoping no one will come and see them. Ician can't help instinctively feeling that the more people who see them together, the greater the chances are that someone will ask the wrong question, realize what's going on, and try to take Aennil away from him. (They can _try_.)

"I can carry you," Ician offers, in the interest of getting Aennil to his father's quarters as quickly as possible.

Once you’re down, your entire body goes floppy again. You could spread out, which was amazing; however, you’re reminded about just how _exhausted_ you were. You’re not sure you’d even slept in the time you’d been here - you could probably pass out right here. So when the offer to be carried comes, it only makes sense to accept it. “That may be best,” you rub your eyes, “I don’t think I can move again.”

"All right." Ician scoops Aennil up easily, carrying him almost bridal-style, held against his chest. It's probably not as comfortable as it could be, considering that Ician is still in armor, so Aennil rests against chainmail. Ician starts off down the corridor. "Just try to relax. It'll be all right."

Another promise Ician might not be able to keep, since he has absolutely no idea what to do.

Armour or no, this is the most comfortable you’d been in almost a week, so you take his advice and relax, letting your head loll back and watching the ceiling while Ician takes you wherever he fancies. “Are we going back to Blood Watch?”

"I don't know," Ician admits. He shifts to put a hand under Aennil's head, supporting his neck, almost as he would a baby's. _I don't know what to do._ He doesn't say that, guessing that it would just add another burden to Aennil, knowing that his rescuer is nearly as lost as he is. "Do you want to go back to Blood Watch?"

“I don’t know,” it’s wholly unnecessary that he supports your head, because you certainly weren’t as fragile as an infant. “I just want to eat something, use a proper latrine, and sleep for twelve hours, in that order.” You won’t admit that you leaned in towards Ician’s chest like you are; the word is certainly not ‘snuggling’. You’re just worried you might fall.

"That I can manage," Ician says. _Probably_. There might be some small issues when Ician's father learns that there's a blood elf crashing in his room. Though maybe not as much of an issue as there could be: Ician isn't sure whether the general population of the Exodar even knows of the war happening on Bloodmyst. He certainly didn't until he arrived in Blood Watch. Ician's father may not even realize that Aennil is the enemy.

The corridors as they approach Ician's father's quarters aren't as deserted: there are civilians coming to and from their quarters, even children. All of them stare at Ician and Aennil. Chances are pretty good they've never seen a non-draenei before; they've certainly never seen a blood elf. Some of their faces are familiar to Ician, but he hurries past before they can get over their surprise and try to talk to him.

“Good. I was starting to think the conditioning may have worn off while I was gone,” you joke weakly, already starting to feel woozy again, your stomach roiling despite having nothing within it. You’re mute as the two of you pass other people, hiding your face to remain unrecognised despite your signature blue hair standing out. Most blood elves were shades of blonde or orange. Blue was irregular. Like a human with red hair.

Ician doesn't respond verbally but strokes the back of Aennil's head. It's a good sign, that he can make a joke. Ician himself is too worried and upset to manage anything approaching humor.

Finally they reach Ician's father's quarters. Ician touches the crystal set into the wall beside the door, hoping it will still recognize him as someone permitted entry -- there's no reason Ician's father would have changed the permissions, but ... The crystal glows and the door slides open. Ician steps into the small room with a sigh of relief.

The chamber is small, spartan: Ician's father is not important enough to warrant a larger room among the Exodar's limited space. In fact, he was placed in cryo while Ician trained as a paladin, only coming out of it as the Exodar approached Azeroth. Ician missed him, of course, but it was necessary to manage the population of the Exodar. Ician himself spent untold time in cryo after his training, until the crash landing. Thousands of draenei were still there in the Exodar's intact cryobays, awaiting reawakening in their new home.

There's a bed in the left corner of the room, and it's there that Ician heads, carefully placing Aennil down on top of the crisp white sheets. Other than that, the room contains a desk and a chair, a tiny kitchenette, and a door to the even tinier bathroom. The Exodar has indoor plumbing.

The bed is basically heaven after so long sleeping on hard palettes and even harder mattresses, and you spread out as much as the bed will allow you to. “Is this... your place?” It’s small, but quaint and comfortable. You could see the paladin making his home here, but if it were his, why did he spend so much time in Blood Watch? You suppose work could’ve taken him there, but this place looked lived in, despite the spartan arrangements.

"My father's," Ician answers. "I hope he won't return for a while yet."

Ician walks to the kitchenette -- it takes only a few steps, in such a small space -- and checks the larder. A couple raw vegetables, some processed gruel, and a coveted hunk of cheese. There's no meat, that being in short supply on the Exodar, and Ician's father probably eats most of his meals in a communal eating hall, leaving little in his chambers.

“Oh.” You roll over to watch Ician wander about the tiny cabin, his comically large self making the small space seem even smaller. “I suppose he isn’t aware you’ve just retrieved me from a cell. Or that I exist.”

"No." Ician considers the contents of the larder and pulls out a purple root vegetable and some of the gruel, a thick paste flavored (not _that_ well) with vegetable extracts. The root vegetable is sweet, at least. He puts them on one of his father's three plates, then fills a glass of water, grabs some silverware, and returns to Aennil.

Gruel or no, when the plate is delivered, you’re already tucking in. It’s better than the completely unflavoured gruel you were offered while in your cell, for certain, even if you had not eaten much of it in your addled state. You end up tearing the vegetable apart with surprisingly strong fingers to dip into the gruel. It makes the entire situation far more enjoyable. “Do you _plan_ on telling him you just illegally extracted a prisoner from solitary confinement?”

_Technically_ Ician isn't sure if he's done anything illegal. Oh, he did lie about his motives for seeking Aennil out -- except he _could_ argue that he was still under Elysia's orders to interrogate the elf. (Elysia herself would dispute this, he knows, but she's not here.) But the officer seemed happy enough to give Aennil up, and it was her choice to forgo the paperwork, not his. It would only stretch the truth a little for Ician to claim that everything he's done was aboveboard.

(It's starting to bother him a little, actually, how easily he, a random soldier, was able to take out a prisoner with no authorization or accountability. If he'd intended to harm Aennil ... )

But rather than explaining all this, Ician just says, "No. Unless he asks."

“So I'm like your dirty little secret,” you tease around a mouthful stuffed with veg and goo, “That’s hot. Nobody knows I exist with you but you.” You seem a little bit more like your old self than you had, but there’s still a reserved, faltering nature to the way you’re interacting with Ician, and your jokes and quips aren’t delivered with nearly as much self-assured sharp wit.

Aennil's joke clashes badly with Ician's own trail of thought -- about prisoners, and keeping track of them, and how nobody seemed to know or care where Aennil was even before Ician retrieved him -- and he grimaces, giving Aennil a distracted and slightly harsh, "If you say so."

Any further quips die in your throat and you focus on finishing the meal you’d been given, quiet as if you’d been scolded and were avoiding further trouble. When you finish your meal, you even raise your hand before you speak, like a school child.

Ician's so distracted with various dark thoughts -- and wondering where he's supposed to go from here -- that it takes him a moment to notice Aennil's hand. And then it takes him another, longer moment to realize what it means.

"Is something wrong?" Ician asks, and then almost slaps his own forehead-plate. _Of course_ something's wrong. A lot of things are wrong right now.

You’re nothing if not very good at waiting, when you’re in this kind of state. “I’m, uh. I'm finished. May I use the latrine ... ?” You’re not actually entirely sure how you should be speaking to Ician. Does your previous familiarity make you friends? Or were you some kind of slave, now?

"Yes, of course." Ician takes the plate and silverware from Aennil and goes to wash up in the tiny kitchenette. He nods at the door to the bathroom. "It's in there. There's a shower, too, if you'd like."

Ician doesn't realize that Aennil may never have seen a shower before, or, for that matter, one of the Exodar's flush toilets. Mostly he's just trying to avoid implying that Aennil smells bad. It's true, but he shouldn't say it.

Thankfully, some version of indoor plumbing existed in the Eversong forest, powered by magic rather than technology. It may take you some moments to get used to how it all worked here, but surely it couldn’t be _that_ different. “I... yeah, that would be nice. Do you know what they did with my armour?... Vera?...”

"I don't know," Ician says, feeling a pang for the ravager hatchling. "I'm sorry."

To try and alleviate a worry he guesses Aennil might have, he says, "I don't think they'd harm Vera. They may have taken her to our biologists, for study, or placed her elsewhere in the menagerie."

He doesn't _think_ the draenei would harm Vera, but then he never would have thought that the draenei would treat Aennil like this either. But _he_ was taught that the draenei's philosophy said never to harm a living being unless truly necessary.

“Okay. Can you, uh, find me clean clothes?” You ask, and slowly get yourself up onto your feet and make your way towards the small bathroom. Your steps are very cautious, like you expect to fall at any point in time. You sort of do. You can’t exactly feel your legs. You’re also not sure what you’re going to change into; these clothes are sweaty and disgusting, soiled before you’d stopped eating and drinking and the need for the bathroom faded. Now that you’ve got something running through you, though, you’re already starting to need to pee. You disappear into the bathroom to tend to yourself, leaving Ician by himself.

Ician finishes washing the dishes and looks around, stymied by Aennil's request. He hates the idea of not being able to do something so simple for the poor elf, but he and his father are both significantly larger than Aennil: none of their clothes will fit. He'd have to go out to try and find something, and he doesn't like the idea of leaving Aennil here alone. What if his father comes back while he's gone? Kaolai'd certainly be quite confused to find a strange alien in his quarters. Besides, Aennil is smaller and differently-proportioned than most draenei; his knees bend a different way. Ician expects difficulty finding anything that'll fit him.

Still, he fully intends to try. Perhaps closer to the trade quarter he'll find some clothes designed for other races. Ician goes to the bathroom and raps on the door gently. "Aennil? I'm going to go find you some clothes. I'll be back soon -- don't leave the room, all right? The door won't let you back in."

Ician will get a soft “okay” from behind the bathroom door, and then the sound of the shower begins after you finally work out how to make it function. You’re excited to get out of these clothes and into something clean— and to _wash_ your _hair_.

Ician leaves, taking careful note of the time. He won't stay out long, even if he doesn't find anything. He heads for the market at a rapid pace, his speed occasioning confused looks from the neighbors, some of whom call out to ask why he's in such a hurry. He ignores them.

Meanwhile, some ten minutes after Ician leaves his quarters, Kaolai returns home from work, sighing with tired relief as the door slides shut behind him. He certainly doesn't expect to find anyone else here.

You’re still in the shower by the time Ician’s father arrives, and therefore don’t recognise the sound of the arrival; there’s so much more grime in your hair than you’d expected for such a short stay, and it’s impossibly tangled, so you’re pretty fairly focused.

As Kaolai puts down his bag on his desk, he notices the sound of the shower, then the mussed bed. He pauses, confused. Who could possibly be in his room? That's not hard for him to answer, actually: only a few people have access to his chambers. Himself, the maintenance department, his lodgings' supervisor, and Ician. He doesn't expect any of those people to be taking a shower in his bathroom, but one possibility _is_ more likely to do that than the others.

"Ician?" Kaolai calls, pitching his voice to be heard over the shower. "Is that you?"

The new voice makes you freeze. That’s not Ician. Especially so, it’s not Ician because it’s _asking_ for Ician. This has gone from being a little awkward to being very awkward, and a little scary. You’re not sure how to respond, beyond a wobbly, uncertain, “No?”

Kaolai freezes by the door, moving through "well and truly baffled" and coming out at "rather worried."

"Who is that?" he asks sharply, stepping closer to the bathroom door. He's unarmed, and smaller than Ician, but he's still on the large side even for draenei, and his muscles are hard from moving crates and barrels of foodstuffs.

After a few beats of silence, the shower ticks off, and you rapidly wrap yourself in a towel and tiptoe towards the bathroom door, slowly and gently opening it. “I... I’m sorry. Uh, I’m a... friend... of Ician?” Are you a friend of Ician?

Kaolai stares at the alien in his room. He has no idea what this person is, let alone why he's standing half-naked in his own chambers. Slowly Aennil's words filter through to him.

"Ician brought you here?" Kaolai says, baffled. " _Why?_ "

“I. Um. Was in a cell. He came and got me out. I’m sorry?” Your hair is still dripping, unnattractively draped around your face. You’re only barely peeking out past the door, easily recognisable fear in your eyes.

Kaolai subsides a little as he sees the fear in the alien's eyes. He's not the kind of man who enjoys scaring others, and Aennil certainly looks piteous enough. Plus, between their size difference and Aennil's nudity, Kaolai no longer feels potentially threatened by the intruder.

He doesn't know what to make of Aennil's words, though, except that clearly the alien is not able to explain the situation properly. Perhaps he doesn't speak Common very well, Kaolai thinks. Speaking rather slowly, he says, "It's all right. I'm not going to hurt you. Where is Ician?"

“He’s... getting me new clothes,” you mumble, glancing at the stinky pile you’d left just outside the bathroom door with distaste. “My chains were too short for me to reach the latrine.” Which was a huge oversight on the part of the guard who had put you in your cell, but it may well have been because of the fuss you’d been making. You’re not the type to give people the benefit of the doubt, but perhaps there’d been intentions of coming back to lengthen them later.

"Ah, well, we can deal with that," Kaolai says, with some relief. He's a bit adrift right now, and the chance to take some practical action anchors him. He comes to get the pile, fully intending to drop it into the laundry chute by the door, which will take it to the Exodar's centralized laundry facilities. It doesn't occur to Kaolai that while all his clothes have standard identification tags, his guest probably won't ever see his clothing again. "But I don't understand. Why were you in chains?"

You’re not particularly sure how to answer that question, if you’re being entirely honest. Why wouldn’t he know? You were the enemy. He had to know. “I’m a prisoner of war?” You attempt, a crease appearing between your overlarge, but well groomed, brows.

Kaolai frowns. "I thought you said you were a friend of Ician's."

Clearly, "Ician's friend" and "prisoner of war" are mutually exclusive in his eyes. He's starting to look suspicious now, wondering if the individual before him is an escaped prisoner on the run, someone he ought to turn in -- perhaps even Ician's enemy. He knows his son has been working for the Hand of Argus on Bloodmyst, but Ician doesn't usually provide his father with the details of his assignments, so Kaolai isn't even aware that the draenei are fighting blood elves.

“I am. Uh. I _think_ I am. It’s... complicated,” the frown and the suspicion has you tempted to close and lock the door, even if it would not keep you entirely safe. It’s more the personal comfort than anything. “I think he could explain better than I can.”

"I imagine so," Kaolai says, a bit wryly. He pulls his chair in front of the door and sits in it, arms crossed. The message is clear: Aennil isn't going anywhere. "We'll just wait for him to get back, then."

“Okay,” You squeak, already shaking in your noncorporeal boots (maybe from fear, maybe from cold). “Do you, uh, have a hairbrush?”

Kaolai gets up, goes to the drawers built into the bottom of the bed, opens one, and finds Aennil a hairbrush. He goes to hand it to Aennil, then return to his chair.

“Thanks?” You take the brush, and, as awkward as it is being watched, slowly begin to de tangle your precious hair, drying it with an auxiliary towel and treating it like it’s your most precious belonging (it is).

"You're welcome," Kaolai says automatically. A strange look comes over his face as he realizes just how odd it is for him to be standing on courtesy at a time like this. An even stranger look then crosses his face as it occurs to him how weird this situation is, with him sitting there watching suspiciously as an alien war prisoner in a towel dries his hair. Light, but Ician had better have a pretty good explanation for this.

Ician does not have a good explanation for this. He returns, carrying a set of clothes over his arm and a pair of boots in his other hand: he managed to find some secondhand clothes from night elf visitors to the Exodar, though he isn't sure if they'll fit Aennil; all the clothes looked just "small" to him when he tried to estimate the elf's size.

As soon as he sees his father, clothes sizing becomes the least of Ician's concerns. His voice is significantly higher than usual as he says, "Oh! Father. You're home."

“ _Ician_ ,” you breathe with relief when you hear the door open again, almost slumping in on yourself. This entire situation would surely be alleviated by his presence. “This is your father?” You should’ve probably assumed as much, considering this was literally his home. You’d be more comfortable leaving. The bathroom now maybe. Or, once you’ve got clothes on, anyway. “Did you find me clothes?” Your vision of the outside of the bathroom is almost entirely taken up by Ician’s father.

"I did," Ician says. He maneuvers around his father, who raises an eyebrow, to hand Aennil the clothes. Then he starts pushing the bathroom door shut. "Go ahead and change. Father and I will talk."

Kaolai stands and moves away from the bathroom to give Aennil some space. "Ician, what's going on? He said he was a prisoner of war, and you got him out of a cell? Why did you bring him here?"

_Damn_. Ician isn't sure what he intended to tell his father, but the entire truth was not it. He wouldn't _lie_ , of course; that was against the paladin's code. (Never mind how he'd told people he sought Aennil for interrogation; that was sort of true, if you squinted.) But he had intended to leave some important details out. Ician opens his mouth for some kind of suave explanation. None comes out. Instead he says, in almost pathetic tones, "They had him chained hand and foot, half out of his mind and covered in his own blood and filth -- I couldn't leave him there."

With relief, you take the clothing and close the door to get changed. The clothing is a little Ill fitting but not nearly as much as perhaps Draenei clothing would be. Once dressed, you come to lean against the closed door to listen in; but it creaks open and so you just casually make it look like you were trying to walk out of the little room. “Thank you, for the use of your bathroom.” This, directed at Ician’s father.

"You're welcome," Kaolai says again. His guest's politeness soothes him a bit, even if it's slightly ridiculous that it should do so; he uncrosses his arms. Then he looks to Ician, seeing how upset his son is -- something not everyone would be able to tell. Kaolai puts his hands on Ician's shoulders. "Leave him where? Who did this, Ician?"

Ician doesn't answer. If he says the draenei military did this, his father won't believe him. Ician himself can barely believe that his people would treat a prisoner so. He doesn't think that any of the draenei involved really intended to hurt Aennil, but that almost makes it worse, because they just didn't care. At some point the guards saw the state Aennil was in and decided to do nothing about it -- _it's not our lookout_ \-- and Ician can't forgive them for that.

You have no such reservations as Ician does, and there’s maybe a little bit of venom when you speak. “In solitary confinement. Here. Maybe they forgot about me,” you add the last bit as a benefit of the doubt kind of thing, because maybe Ician had managed to convince you that Draenei weren’t all bad, and maybe you might be able to consider them vaguely humanitarian if that was the reason you’d suffered so. With a huff, you sit down on the floor, rather than dare request a better form of seating. You’re too tired to really deal with this kind of thing, but you don’t think you can get out of it.

"Here?" Kaolai says. He looks at Ician again and repeats, "Who did this?"

"I don't have names," Ician says, sounding exhausted. He doesn't know what else to say.

"What war is he a prisoner of?" Kaolai asks.

"On Bloodmyst. His people and ours are fighting ..." Ician closes his eyes, images from the fighting on Bloodmyst flashing behind his lids. The dead draenei near the cryo core. Galen's body. Matis, laughing. And Aennil in the bear trap.

"Is he dangerous?"

"No," Ician says at once.

“More bark than bite,” you grumble in support, trying very hard not to yawn and altogether completely failing in that regard. Otherwise, you mostly just observe the conversation. There’s nothing you can say to help. In fact, trying to appeal by yourself would probably have a negative effect.

Kaolai shakes his head. "I don't understand. You pulled a prisoner of war out of his cell? On what authority?"

"Mine," Ician says. "Just mine."

He pulls himself together, aware that his father can see him doing so. Ician also realizes that if he ends up facing consequences for his actions, he'd rather his father not catch trouble for aiding and abetting them.

"We won't put you out," Ician says. "We'll go to the Exobar. I ... If your conscience demands that you report us, I will understand."

The thought of being caught again has a shudder rock through you, and you squeeze your knees to your chest. You’d probably rather get yourself killed trying to fight someone than go back in that cell. Death would be preferable. “What’s the Exobar?”

"It's the inn here on the Exodar," Ician explains. It occurs to him only now that the innkeeper might be even more suspicious of Ician and Aennil than Kaolai. Breel definitely knows there's a war on. And Ician's intended ruse -- that he's interrogating Aennil -- might not work in a civilian setting.

"Of course I'm not going to report you," Kaolai says, dismissing the prospect with a twitch of his tentacles and lash of his tail. "If you brought him here, I'm sure you had a good reason for it, even if I don't fully understand it. You're welcome to stay here as long as you need. I'll sleep on the floor; or I can stay with friends."

This isn’t the time for you to find Draenei anatomy so interesting, but it’s definitely exactly when it’s happening; your attention is drawn first to the tail and then to the tentacles. Could they feel the tentacles? Or were they like hair? Were they prehensile or just reactionary? You scratch the side of your face idly, curiosity sinking in over fear now that the immediate threat is no longer a threat. “I don’t want to inconvenience you in your own home.”

"It's all right," Kaolai says, but Ician shakes his head.

"We can't stay here," he says, with certainty. For one thing, if anyone realizes what Ician is up to, this'll be the first place they look. Though honestly he almost wants someone to confront him over his actions: it would at least show that they care where their prisoners end up, and then he'd be able to demand answers about Aennil's mistreatment, to throw it in his accusers' faces and ask how they could claim to follow the Light while keeping the elf in such darkness. He hadn't forgotten, either, the sympathetic officer's failure to answer when he asked if other prisoners were suffering.

Ician creates a back up plan on the fly: "If the Exobar refuses us, we'll leave the Exodar, camp in the woods on Azuremyst. It'll be fine."

With a heartfelt sigh, you manage to force yourself up onto your feet. You suppose you were technically a fugitive right now. You just... kind of want to go home. Give your dad a hug. Back to the mundane farmer life. It’s a shame that with your skills, you’d never be allowed to resign; and your own morals wouldn’t let you waste your abilities when you could be making a difference. “I hate to cut your visit short, but if we’re leaving, can we do it sooner rather than later? I don’t think I have the energy to dally. I need to pass out for a good twelve hours.”

"Are you sure?" Kaolai says, looking especially uncertain at those words from Aennil. And then: "What about the war? You said you were busy."

Ician gives his father a startled-deer look: he hasn't thought about his actual assignments once since he started searching for Aennil. Now he has to face the fact that yeah, those are probably important. But not that important: no one else can -- or will -- help Aennil right now. Somebody else can ...

... can blow up the blood elves' portal to Bloodmyst. Oh, Light. The gravity of the mission he recently received -- its consequences for Aennil and the other elves on Bloodmyst -- suddenly hits Ician like a ton of bricks.

“...Ician, are you shirking duty just to deal with me?” Another scrunched brow, and you nervously rub sweaty palms on your new pants.

"I would never shirk my duty," Ician says, and it sounds quite credible coming out of his mouth. "This simply happened to take priority over my other missions."

Kaolai smiles ruefully. "I'm sure you've got it handled."

_I do not have it handled._ Still, Ician has to look like he knows what he's doing, because Aennil is relying on him. And he has to have faith that he will figure out _something_ , or he'll go insane. "We should go. Father, thank you for the use of your home. If someone asks where I am, you should tell them; I don't want you to get in trouble on my account."

"I'm your father," Kaolai replies. "It's my job to get in trouble on your account."

“You sound like _my_ father,” you offer with rueful amusement, shooting a smile to the older Draenei. Certainly that’s to be received as a complement. “If it’s between an inn and camping, Ician, I think I’d prefer the camping. I feel enough like a fugitive, so I may as well play the part.”

"I should hope so," Kaolai rumbles, offering his guest a smile. Then his expression turns to concern as he thinks, _Does your father know where you are? What kind of trouble you're in?_ Seeing this alien as someone else's son makes him all the more worried about the two of them.

Ician almost argues in favor of the Exobar, thinking of all the dangerous animals who wander Azuremyst at night, then changes his mind. Aennil's already been imprisoned enough: if he wants to leave the Exodar, Ician isn't going to stop him. "Camping it is."

"I could gather some supplies for you," Kaolai offers.

“Marshmallows and sausages,” You jest, settling your gaze overall on Ician. You’d decided camping, but he was in charge, overall, because you’re pretty useless in this situation. You hate being helpless. You don’t even have your picks, or your daggers, or even your _armour_. You were little more than a civilian with the supplies you have.

"Daggers," Ician says, his train of thought almost coinciding with Aennil's. He might not be able to source lockpicks or armor fitting a blood elf right now, but weapons should be easy enough to find. And he doesn't want to go into the wilderness with Aennil defenseless. "Two of them, whatever you can find." (Kaolai doesn't know weapons. He probably won't bring back the greatest choices -- but they'll be better than nothing.) "And ..."

Ician gives his father a list of the supplies they'll need -- divided into the classes of "absolutely must have" and "can go without" -- and the money to pay for them. Even counting the things Ician thinks they can go without, it's not much, but it'll make them considerably more comfortable in the woods. Kaolai turns to go.

A burst of both relief and surprise run through you when the word ‘daggers’ slips out of his mouth. He trusts you with weaponry. He trusts you with weaponry? He trusts you with weaponry! You can’t help the genuine grin that spreads across your face, even if it has an exhausted edge to it. Once Kaolai is gone, you allow yourself to grow your body over his evacuated chair and go as floppy as you can. “I think I’m feeling better.”

"Good," Ician says, sincerely. He pauses, feeling like there's a lot they ought to talk about, but he can't find the words. That task isn't helped by Aennil's smile, which Ician finds all sorts of distracting and disconcerting. It _hurts_ to see him smile, after all of this.

Ician sits on the bed, tail swishing back and forth across the sheets as he thinks. All right. Camping. And then what do they do from there?

“So,” You shift to sit in the chair almost correctly, turning it so the back faced Ician and you sat with your legs to either side of it, leaning forward against it. “How long do you think you can keep me before Elysia puts me back in that cell, or worse?”

_I don't know_. The question opens up a deep, and deeply unfamiliar, well of fear in Ician's stomach. He isn't used to being afraid. The last time he remembers feeling something like this ... it would have to be when his papa's heart failed, about ten years ago.

"You're not going back in that cell," Ician says in with conviction, "or any other."

“You said that the first time.” You don’t mean for it to have the bite behind it that it does, but... what if you’d been sent here because you and Ician had argued? Did he have anything to do with sending you here? You can’t imagine his paladin morals would have allowed it, but... well. You were still the enemy.

Elysia would say that a cell wasn't _technically_ a cage, Ician imagines. But he is not one to quibble over technicalities. He lets out a long, sad breath. "I know. I'm sorry."

Making promises he can't keep again. Last time Ician felt secure in his people's honor, and in his ability to control Aennil's fate. Now he doubts both of those. Oh, he'll do his best -- this is a matter of honor, among other things, and he'd easily stake his life on it. But while he's defending lines in the sand, what happens to Aennil?

“It’s ok. I’m not dead yet,” it’s meant to be a joke but it comes out with genuine fear instead. “If I could I’d just... leave. And stay out of your way. But I think you’d get in trouble if I got away.”

Ician wants to reach out and touch Aennil but restrains himself. His tail lashes, though, with some kind of frustration. Then it moves more thoughtfully as he considers the idea of just releasing Aennil. It's crossed his mind before, as he's struggled to think what to do. He's surprised to find that he doesn't really have any objections.

Except, that is, that all the blood elves on Bloodmyst are going to be trapped there soon, their way home destroyed. Cut off from all support, they'll surely lose the war, and Ician has no idea what the draenei will do with the survivors then. A day ago he would have said that they'd be treated just fine, but not now. Now he suspects that that course ends with Aennil back in that same cell. Or dead in the fighting.

And yet Ician can't discuss that with Aennil. That would take his actions from bad decisions to outright treason. He'd be giving the enemy vital, actionable information. And while he might have doubts about his people now, and he might have sprung Aennil from prison, Ician is not a traitor; he will not damage the war effort. He may not consider Aennil his personal enemy, but he suspects the elf remains loyal enough to his people to make good use of such information.

"You can go," Ician says at last. "I won't stop you."

You roll the idea over in your mind. He’s letting you go. By all means, you should take off sprinting immediately; but, much like after the battle with the naga, you just... can’t. You don’t... want to? You don’t want to leave him. “I... don’t. I don’t want to?” It comes out like a question in your confusion, your face twisting up with distress. “That’s weird, right?”

"Yes, that's weird," Ician says, his voice solemn but eyes twinkling with humor. To his surprise, he finds he's glad that Aennil doesn't want to leave, even though it would probably be the simplest and best solution. Ician hesitates, then admits, "I don't want you to leave either."

You snort, and abruptly rise from the chair to go and sit instead beside Ician on the bed, bouncing on the light surface. “I’m glad the feeling is mutual. I just... like you.”

Ician can't help smiling. He can also feel himself blushing, but since that turns him an attractive shade of purple, maybe Aennil won't notice. After a moment's hesitation, he puts an arm around Aennil. "I like you too."

Your own blush lights your face an obscene shade of orange, and you lean in to the touch. It’s not exactly what you’d meant, but... yeah, maybe you like, liked him too. “Well, that’s going to be problematic for the war effort.”

"We'll just have to stop the war, then," Ician says casually, as if speaking of nothing more difficult than taking a little stroll. He leans into Aennil as well, wrapping his arm more firmly around the elf. There are things he should be concerned about, but suddenly he can't remember what they are.

“Easy enough. I’ll just go have a little chat with Garrosh and Sylvanas, shall I?” You laugh, still hoarse, but with far more energy. “I think I might take a nap. You don’t mind, do you?” He’s warm and inviting, and you haven’t been nearly so comfortable in... who knows how long you’d been in that cell.

Ician doesn't actually know who Garrosh and Sylvanas are -- blood elf leaders, he assumes -- but he smiles to hear Aennil laugh. In a serious voice, he says, "I'm sure the Prophet Velen will be happy to fit me into his schedule."

He hesitates at Aennil's request: Kaolai will be back soon, and he itches to get going and free his father from their presence. But Aennil must be exhausted, and Ician can't bear to deny him. "Of course not. Rest."

Ician starts to remove his arm from around Aennil so that he can lie down.

“Don’t wake me when we need to leave. Just carry me,” overdramatically, you throw your body down and sprawl on the mattress so that you’re using Ician’s thigh as a pillow. You had no desire to break the contact you’d apparently missed so much. Besides, you definitely weren’t large enough to require all that much of the bed.

Ician chuckles and strokes Aennil's hair, shifting so that he can lean against the wall behind the bed. "Your wish is my command."

Some time later, Kaolai returns with the supplies, setting down a heavy pack and a somewhat lighter one. He starts to speak as he enters the room, but Ician shakes his head, whispering, "Don't wake him."

Kaolai looks at his son and his _friend_ and understands easily. He nods and quietly slips out of the room, off to occupy himself elsewhere.


	6. Chapter 6

 

By the time Aennil awakens, Ician has fallen asleep himself, leaning against the wall. He hasn't gotten much rest since, well, arriving on Bloodmyst, but he went especially sleepless during his half-frantic search for Aennil.

When you awaken, it’s still dark even when you open your eyes; and you’re having trouble breathing, too. It’s like you were pressed against fabric... you rear away from it, and it’s only s few moments before you realise your face had been buried in Ician’s stomach. Oh. That was... okay. With a yawn, you sit up, gently combing fingers through your hair. It’s then that you realise that Ician, too, was sleeping— you close your mouth, after you’d prepared to speak, and gently, slowly shift to sit beside him. He was cute, like this, and you know he never really got to sleep enough with all the work he did on Bloodmyst, so you weren’t planning to interrupt him at all. You _do_ shift to lean against him, though.

Ician stirs as Aennil gets up, his tail swishing across the sheet. He makes a small, disappointed sound, eyes twitching under his lids. When Aennil leans against him, Ician puts an arm around him without opening his eyes, pulling Aennil close in a sudden motion. Then he wakes up and looks down. "Oh. I'm sorry."

There’s genuine upset when he wakes up, but you suppose he must be something of a light sleeper. “For what?” You yawn again, “I was just going to let you sleep. I’m sorry if I woke you.”

"It's all right," Ician says, without expanding on his apology. Still sleepy, he's not completely sure what he's sorry for, anyway. "I didn't intend to sleep at all. We should get going."

His tone turns ever-so-slightly reluctant on the last words, as he looks around the room. The packs of supplies remain near the door where Kaolai left them. Ician supposes he won't have an opportunity to say goodbye to his father.

“Yeah,” a sigh, “We probably should. I despise past me for suggesting camping, but it’s likely a good idea for me not to be seen running around the Exodar.”

"Or walking," Ician says, deadpan. He stands up slowly, stretching his arms above his head with a yawn. Then he goes to pick up the larger, heavier pack. The smaller one, Ician notices, has a dagger strapped to each side. Good work, Kaolai. "I imagined you could remain in stealth on our way out. Will that work?"

“I can do that.” You nod, and wander to the pack. You throw it over your shoulders and strap the daggers to either side of your new belt; you feel so much better with weapons under your fingers again, and you can feel yourself relaxing more. “Just, uh, don’t touch or talk or look at me. You’ll draw attention to me and then it’ll break.”

"All right." Somehow Ician tends to find it hard not to look at Aennil. He'll manage, but a certain worry does stab at him: "How will I know you're still with me?"

He wouldn't want to escape the Exodar only to discover that he'd lost Aennil somewhere along the way -- and had no idea where to look for him.

“We’ll just have to be careful,” you frown; you don’t like the idea of the two of you potentially getting separated on the way out. “Worst case scenario, I’ll find my way out and find you in the forest. You’re not exactly hard to track.”

Ician nods.

"If you get lost," he begins, and almost starts rattling off place names, but then he realizes they'll mean nothing to Aennil. Instead he settles on, "Follow the hippogriffs. We'll be taking the same tunnel to the surface that they do."

He still hates the idea of getting separated from Aennil, not even knowing that they _are_ separated -- wandering around the woods hoping he'll show up, with no way of knowing if he's in trouble. But there's nothing Ician can do about that, so he pushes the worry to the back of his mind and says only, "Are you ready?"

“Yeah. You go ahead. I can’t do it when you’re looking at me. That’s not an embarrassment thing, that's just how it works.” You laugh, and wave him on ahead of you. You don’t think you’ll get lost, but you keep in mind what he’d said about the hippogriffs. “If I get lost, I’ll find you. Don’t worry. Just keep moving.”

"All right." Even as worried as Ician is, it's good to hear Aennil laugh. Ician touches the crystal beside the door, causing the door to slide open, and walks out into the corridor, which is currently empty. Thank the Light. He has to resist the urge to look back around at Aennil. It's probably best if he just pretends to himself that he's alone as he leaves the Exodar. For him, the trip should be simplicity itself -- no one will question his presence. Aennil's the one with the hard job.

Ician starts down the corridor, moving at a leisurely pace.

You slip into stealth as you step out of the door behind Ician, all of your bodily sounds blending in with the ambiance, a step fading half-way through. Stealthing isn’t really becoming _invisible_ or _intangible_ , it’s blending in to the point that you seem just another part of the surrounds. You keep close to Ician, although you cannot reassure him of your presence.

As Ician passes through the civilian quarters, he starts to see more draenei in the halls again. A few of them he knows; an old friend of his papa's calls "Ician!" with a clear hope of starting a conversation, but Ician only waves at her and keeps moving. It's not crowded, exactly, but there are people around. Children, too, running through the halls for games of tag or hide and seek. Ician can only hope that none of them will stumble into Aennil.

So far, so good; you remain close to Ician’s side, not touching but enough that you could feel the warmth of his skin. You’re almost nudged when he waves at what you assume is a friend, but you manage to avoid your stealth being broken at that point in time. Seeing tiny child Draenei run around is insane, but you suppose even these blue aliens had to have children; and you’ll admit they’re kind of cute. Hard to avoid, though.

It doesn't take long for Ician to reach more public areas of the Exodar. Part of him feels relieved when he does: there's a greater variety of peoples in these places, so it'll be easier for Aennil to go unnoticed, if he has to unstealth for some reason. Part of Ician hopes that Aennil might be mistaken for a night elf, an ally. On the other hand, this area is also more crowded, and here there are guards: peacekeepers stand at attention in every major thoroughfare.

They come out in the Traders' Tier, since that's closest to where Kaolai works. An enormous vaulted ceiling, like some kind of great cavern, stretches overhead, crisscrossed by tubes bigger around than Ician, conduits for the pink energy that powers the Exodar. Braziers of blue fire light and warm the area, while lanterns hang from sparkling pink threads. Pinkish crystals thrust out of the ground at seemingly random points.

The more heavily populated areas are the opposite of helpful for you. It makes it a little more difficult for you to duck and weave around people, and you end up trailing a little behind Ician; you try not to lose sight of him, glad you could recognise him amongst the crowd of other blue people, even from behind.

Heading down the stairs towards the floor of the Traders' Tier -- passing under beautiful skeins of pink silk draped across the ceiling -- Ician tries not to look stressed as a peacekeeper passes nearby. He tries even harder not to look stressed as he spots one of the huge crystalforged sentinels wandering around down on the floor. That thing could crush Aennil with one hand ... if it could catch him.

Ician walks past the various merchants' tables, letting his eyes wander over their wares as if he's just out for a stroll.

It’s a pretty place, and you get a lot distracted down in the marketplace, drawn to shiny things here and there; if you weren’t sure that Ician would get mad, you would’ve been taking a thing or two, too, which probably is something you should work on. You had some very sticky fingers.

As he walks towards the Seat of the Naaru -- the gorgeous center of the Exodar, where the pink energy from the naaru at its core swirls up into a pink sun, all ringed with crystals and gold -- Ician tries not to stare at the peacekeeper, or the sentinels. That leaves his eyes wandering the crowd, and then they happen to spot a familiar face. Ician's throat closes -- _oh no_ \-- and he tries to move on before she sees him, but it's too late: they've made eye contact. It would be suspicious for Ician to try to avoid her now, wouldn't it?

"Ician!" Elysia says, a smile on her face but an edge in her voice. "What a surprise! I can't imagine what you're doing here."

It takes you a little to catch up to Ician after the marketplace, and when you do, any excitement on your face dies- not that anybody can see it. _Elysia_. Ician’s— Oh, shit. His girlfriend. You’d been getting _very cuddly_ with Ician without realising you might have been making him act in a way he’d view as disloyalty. You slink up to his side, grimacing and ready to listen in on this conversation.

"I -- I could say the same for you," Ician says. "Don't you have work?"

"The Triumvirate decided to give me a day off. That, and I need to pick up supplies." Elysia's smile gets even harsher. "But I know they didn't do the same for you, Ician. Aren't you supposed to be corralling voidlings? Working on that _one_ project?"

"I needed supplies as well," Ician replies, with dignity. "I am not confined to Bloodmyst, am I?"

"No, but _someone_ is certainly confined." Elysia looks around, almost as if she expects to see Aennil trailing after Ician. Or sticking out of his pocket. "I assume you've been to the menagerie."

Oh, dear. He _had_ been shirking work to come retrieve you. He was going to be in worlds of trouble and you couldn’t even defend him without getting him in even _more_ trouble. You duck to hide behind him, in the hopes that you won’t be spotted - even though you’re stealthed, you’re still scared.

Ician's tail lashes. He might as well tell part of the truth -- he doubts Elysia will believe him if he denies looking for Aennil. Voice tight with anger, Ician says, "He wasn't there."

"Don't worry," Elysia says, her voice also strained. "I'll be sure to check up on him. Unless, of course, you already have."

Ician remembers half-wanting someone to confront him about rescuing Aennil so he can demand answers about their treatment of the elf. He decides this is the moment and drops all pretense: "They had him chained in his own waste. He'd torn his wrists bloody trying to get out. Whose idea was that, Elysia?"

Elysia's face drops. "Not mine, I assure you, but what were they supposed to do, when he'd proven he'd cheerfully escape from anything less? You said 'had' -- Ician, what have you done?"

A wince rocks through your body- and you rock forward and bump into Ician, which immediately breaks your stealth and sends a roll of panic through you. Oh, no. Oh, dear, no.

"Ician," Elysia says, her eyes widening as she spots Aennil behind him, "I am giving you ten seconds to do your duty, apprehend that prisoner, and salvage your career."

"Aennil, run," Ician says grimly, drawing his sword.

No one else has noticed the blood elf's presence yet, but Ician reaching for a weapon gets their attention -- the civilians draw back, leaving an empty circle around Elysia, Ician, and Aennil. With them all staring, there's no way Aennil can stealth. Someone calls for the peacekeepers.

“No.” You instead come to stand beside Ician, your new, pristine daggers in your hands, prepared to have to fight your way out if you need to. You wouldn’t leave Ician here; the trouble he’d get in would be immeasurable. You don’t want him to suffer for your sake. “I’ll stand with you. It’s my fault your girlfriend is pissed.”

Now, at the absolute worst time, Ician finally remembers to deny any such relationship: "She's not my girlfriend."

The peacekeepers push their way through the crowd. They recognize what Aennil is at once, and three of them draw their weapons and come forward. The rest start ushering the civilians away from the dangerous confrontation.

"Ician, son of Kaolai," Elysia says softly, "I'm placing you under arrest for treason. You've aided and abetted the enemies of the draenei people and drawn your blade on a superior officer."

"Stand down, both of you," orders a peacekeeper. "Or we will use force."

Another peacekeeper is busy calling over the crystalforged destroyer.

“You ought to be the one running, Ician,” You grumble; but then, you sheathe your daggers. Maybe you could bluff your way out of trouble. With a loud enough voice to reach even the crowd, you speak, “I, Aennil Sunstriker, son of Vera and Axen, denounce my name and citizenship amongst the blood elves and claim asylum amongst the Draenei. I name Ician, Son of Kaolai, as my envoy.” Now you just have to hope the Draenei have similar laws to other races in Azeroth.

Elysia blinks. The peacekeepers blink. Someone says, "Can he do that?"

"Ye-es," Elysia says slowly. A little more enthusiasm comes to her face as she thinks this over. She doesn't actually want to arrest Ician; she wants him to continue to serve the Hand of Argus on Bloodmyst, considering how effective he's been. And she feels responsible for his defection, considering that she's the one who told him to be friendly to Aennil in the first place. Maybe if she can get him alone, she can convince him how foolish his actions have been, how he's been led astray by an enemy agent, and they can handle this quietly. She is _very_ persuasive. "Yes, he can do that."

"Aennil ..." Ician says quietly. He doesn't like this. Aennil has already thrown himself on the mercy of the draenei once, and look how that turned out. On the other hand, Ician likes the idea of fighting his own people even less. He sheaths his sword and holds his hands out in a gesture of peace -- and surrender.

As far as the peacekeeprs know, the draenei don't actually have any specific laws concerning asylum -- they didn't exactly need them while drifting alone through the cosmos. But the soldiers also don't want to attack two men who've surrendered and might have a legal claim. They decide this is above their pay grade.

"Surrender your weapons," says the peacekeeper leader. "We'll take you to the exarch."

You remove your brand new daggers (Blugh) from your belt and offer them to the closest peacekeeper hilt-first, your entire body tense. You can’t believe you’re doing this. Why are you _doing_ this? For Ician? For yourself? It’s too late to stop now. “I swear my services and knowledge to the Draenei in exchange for fair and due process, and a home amongst them.” You offer Elysia a smug grin. You wouldn’t give _her_ any information, but you’d definitely convey it to any _other_ Draenei. You hope it annoyed her.

The peacekeeper takes Aennil's daggers and looks to Ician, who hands over his sword and shield at once. He doesn't know what to make of Aennil's demand for asylum, but he'll take nearly anything over a doomed fight against his fellows.

"This way," says one of the peacekeepers, as others separate the crowd. An escort of peacekeepers falls in around Aennil and Ician, watching them carefully, though they make no attempt to touch either of them.

Elysia pushes her way into the group. "I should explain the situation to the exarch."

The peacekeepers let her in.

You let out a long, anxious breath, and step just a little closer to Ician whole the two of you are escorted through the crowd. You’re very much hoping you won’t end up in a cell again, and you’re hoping Ician won’t either. “Please tell me why I’m doing this,” You mutter to Ician; somehow, you find his hand and squeeze it in a request for comfort from the anxiety building in your chest. “And let it be a good reason.”

Ician squeezes Aennil's hand in return, though he notices the peacekeepers -- and Elysia -- looking at them. Let them look, he decides. He's done lying and hiding.

"The best reason," Ician whispers back. "For peace."

Another sigh, and then you right yourself, a more determined expression crossing your features. “Yeah, Alright. For peace. What a hell of a time for me to discover what honour feels like.”

Ician chuckles. "No one finds their limits sitting at home eating bonbons."

They reach the exarch's office, or at least their anteroom: a secretary sits at a large desk, while a scattering of comfortable chairs await those who those must wait for the exarch's attention.

The secretary jumps up when this party enters, eyes wide. He doesn't often see a full complement of peacekeepers marching into the room.

"We require the exarch's wisdom to resolve a ... situation," says the lead peacekeeper.

"I can explain circumstances to the exarch," Elysia offers.

The secretary nods, regaining his composure. "Please wait here. I will inform the exarch of your presence."

You gently nudge Ician, and pull your most serious face; which vaguely looks like you’re constipated, really, and you almost end up giggling, instead letting your amusement dance in your eyes. “Ician is my chosen Envoy,” you remind Elysia.

Ician gives Aennil a wide smile, something in his chest loosening at the sight of the elf's amusement.

"I'm afraid Ician is too close to this case to give a full understanding of the circumstances," Elysia replies calmly.

"He pulled a blade in the Seat of the Naaru," one of the peacekeepers says. Most of them have left, but two remain, guarding Ician and Aennil even unarmed as they are. "I don't think you chose your envoy well."

The exarch's secretary returns and looks to Elysia. "The exarch will see you now."

“I chose my Envoy based on him being an individual I trust who has the most knowledge of my situation. I don’t think I could’ve chosen better,” you state primly and promptly to the peacekeeper, before going back to Mr. Constipated serious man when the secretary returns for Elysia.

Ician struggles not to laugh at Aennil's face. It becomes more difficult the longer he maintains it, until Ician has to look away. Light, but he should not be laughing right now. Even if he could set aside his worries for Aennil, he _did_ just commit treason. He imagines the exarch won't be too happy about that -- though, since exarches are civilians and not military officers, they might be less unhappy than, say, the harbinger would be.

Elysia remains in the exarch's office for a good fifteen minutes. Then she emerges and looks to Ician. "The exarch wishes to speak to you next."

You give Ician mercy and let your face melt into something more neutral, although in the time Elysia is gone (seems way too long) it’s very difficult for you to not start being ridiculous again. You feel like an apprentice sent to the principal’s office again, even though you know this is a _much_ more serious affair.

When Elysia returns and says the exarch is ready for Ician, you nod, and begin to ready your appearance. You’re sure the exarch wants _only_ Ician, but... you don’t trust Elysia enough to stay out here with her without him.

Ician heads to the exarch's office, but pauses when the secretary goes to stop Aennil from following him.

"You have not been summoned," the secretary says primly.

"Aennil deserves the chance to plead his case," Ician rumbles, looking down at the smaller secretary. He's not _trying_ to intimidate the man, but if it happens to help ...

"And he'll get it," the secretary says. "When the exarch summons him."

“I don’t feel safe in interrogator Elysia’s presence,” you state, “twice she’s confined me and while it was done so legally, there have been serious repercussions to my physical and mental health both times.”

"You'll be fine," Elysia says, half amused. "I left my handcuffs at home."

"Don't make the exarch wait," the secretary entreats Ician.

"You will have to explain to the exarch that you would not allow us in," Ician says, crossing his arms.

The secretary relents and steps out of Aennil's way. "Much good may it do you," he mutters.

You still send a glare at Elysia, but you’re relieved when the secretary acquiesces and allows the two of you passage through to see the exarch, who you assume is the man in charge or whatever. You’re glad you won’t be stuck in a room with Elysia. You’re not sure what it was about her (maybe the twice she’d condemned you to cages/cells) but you didn’t like her. Which is a shame, because in another life, the two of you could’ve been friends, with your matching wits and senses of humour.

The exarch sits behind a stone desk with accents of pink crystal: an older woman with curled horns and silver hair. She raises an eyebrow at Aennil's presence.

"I believe I asked to speak to the paladin alone," she says mildly.

There are chairs present for petitioners, but Ician remains standing at attention.

“I felt unsafe in interrogator Elysia’s presence. I apologise for my slight in propriety.” You nod your head very very respectfully. This is the time for no play and as much politeness as you can muster- which was a lot. Diplomacy was always more your speed than anything else.

"What, did you imagine she would drag you out of the waiting room?" the exarch chides.

"It would not be an entirely unfounded concern, considering the treatment Aennil has received from our people so far," Ician says calmly, without any accusation in his tone.

You purse your lips but let Ician talk instead, because it was him the exarch had called upon and this conversation must star the two of them. “It had crossed my mind that she might attempt something similar,” you admit, “as much as I know the fear is mostly unfounded, my psyche isn’t currently in the best place.”

"Hmm," the exarch says. "Despite such mistrust, you seek asylum among us. Why?"

You can’t help the little affectionate glance you shoot at Ician, before you clear your throat and focus on the exarch. “The war between my kin and yours is only going to lead to more destruction and death. I believe the best place for me to work for peace is here, among your people... that, and Ician has taught me much about the honour your people retain. Besides all of that, the distrust is more to do with Elysia personally rather than your clade.”

"You are motivated by peace," the exarch says. "Yet you've turned one of our own against us, caused him to draw his blade against his own people."

"Your Excellence -- " Ician begins, but the exarch silences him with a wave.

"I want to hear his explanation," she says. "You will have your chance to speak."

“I apologise. I never intended for such a reaction to take place. I think we have both... grown attached. He was defending me on his own code of honour— he found me earlier this day tied on too short chains, delirious and in a puddle of my own filth, In solitary confinement, uncared for by any guards. I’m still recovering, which may drive my current distrust for interrogator Elysia,” you admit, “I believe... he’s as much willing to defend me as I am willing to betray the trust of the only family I’ve ever known for his safety and to stay with him. ‘Attachment’ may be too casual of a term,” you seem perplexed at that, a crease appearing between your brows. “Given multiple chances to flee, I didn’t. And it was for Ician. We fought together, and it was.. singularly the most free I’ve felt in my entire life. I don’t want to lose that.”

Ician finds himself speechless even as the exarch looks to him. He reaches for Aennil's hand and squeezes it, hoping to convey any part of what he feels this way.

"Aennil tells the truth," Ician manages, finding his voice. "He has had many chances to escape and has not taken them. And the conditions of his imprisonment here were unspeakable. While I could not fail to act seeing anyone, even my worst enemy, in such a state ... Aennil is a good man, and I care greatly for him."

The exarch frowns slightly. "I see. I shall have to investigate the treatment of prisoners, then. But why did you not claim asylum earlier? To do so only when on the verge of capture stinks of an attempt to save your own skin, not a sincere conversion."

“I haven’t particularly been in the greatest position to do just about anything,” you admit, “prior to my imprisonment here, I hadn’t even considered such extremes, but... I think, right now, it's what I should do. For the good of me, Ician, and our peoples. I won’t claim that all of my intentions are honorable - I care for Ician and that’s a big part of the reason - but I truly feel I could benefit many with the choices I’ve made.”

"Ician, you ought to have realized that you had better options than treason," the exarch says calmly.

Ician bows his head and folds his hands before him. "So I should have, Your Excellence. I can only say that I was ... driven to distraction by the sight of Aennil's condition. As he said, we did not have time to fully consider our options."

_And I wouldn't ask him to leave his people -- his family -- like this._ But perhaps Ician ought not mention that to the exarch.

"Next time, try turning to official channels before you break the law, not after," the exarch says wryly. She looks to Aennil. "Some would say you have seduced Ician from his duty."

"Your Excellence," Ician says, "I think it might be more accurate to say that I have seduced Aennil from his, considering the current situation."

You rub the back of your head. “I never intended for Ician to consider me so highly that he would act as he has. I’m flattered, but I’m kind of just along for the ride, sir,” a ride with Ician (you squeeze his hand). “I’m willing to offer you any knowledge or services I can if only you will allow me to make my home here.”

The exarch examines a roll of paper on her desk. "You might be interested to know that Interrogator Elysia recommended that I grant your asylum."

She looks up and sighs. "Very well. Aennil Sunstriker, I grant you asylum and a home among the draenei. Understand that this makes you subject to our laws and edicts hereafter. Ician, son of Kaolai, I will overlook your indiscretions on the understanding that they were made following the Light and your heart.

"Elysia also recommended that I place Aennil under house arrest and send Ician back to Blood Watch." The exarch shuffles her papers. "However, I have a different plan in mind. I will have my secretary find temporary housing for you -- I assume you would prefer a shared room -- while I contact my colleagues at Blood Watch. With Admentius' blessing, you will both be sent there to make peace overtures to the blood elves."

The exarch looks up at Ician and Aennil with sharp eyes. "I am placing a great deal of trust in you both. Do _not_ disappoint me. You will not get a third chance."

A long, relieved sigh bubbles past your lips, and you swear the only thing keeping you from collapsing is that you’re still grounded by holding ician’s hand. He’d _probably_ catch you if you fell. “Thank you, exarch. I’ll do everything within my power to help.”

Ician squeezes Aennil's hand. Part of him can't believe what he just heard; the rest of him says _of course_ his people would do the right thing in the end. The exarchs are their leaders for a reason -- they're supposed to be the best of the draenei. This one has not disappointed. "Thank you, Your Excellence."

"Thank me by proving me right," the exarch says briskly. "Oh, and I will send intelligence officers to debrief you, Aennil. In light of your suffering, Elysia will not be one of them."

After a pause, the exarch adds, "You may go. Send in my secretary."

“Of course.” You respond politely, despite the excitement and trepidation building in your gut. When dismissed, you practically drag Ician out of the room and almost immediately collapse in one of the gigantic Draenei-sized chairs out in the waiting room, chest heaving. You had probably come very close to going back in a cell. That would’ve ruined you.

In contrast to Aennil's collapse, Ician can't help grinning widely. He would pick Aennil up and spin him around in joy if the elf didn't look so exhausted. "We did it!"

Elysia approaches, expression amused. "I assume from that that you haven't both been sentenced to death."

You shoot Ician a drained, but no less excited, grin. “We did it. _and_ you get a little vacation.” If there’s one thing that could ruin your mood, though, it would be Elysia. “Surprisingly enough, considering you were involved, no. We get to take a break so I can be debriefed before we head back, hopefully, to blood watch.” You hope the fact that the exarch had not heeded her would annoy her.

"I can imagine no one better to spend it with," Ician rumbles, touching Aennil's shoulder.

"Oh, good." Elysia actually smiles. "That would be a waste."

She glances at Aennil, her eyebrows raised. "It may surprise you to hear this, but I bear you no personal ill will. In fact, I'll go see if I can locate your possessions, if you like."

You lean into the touch, releasing a long, but happy, sigh. “Forgive me if I’m skeptical,” you snip at Elysia with a solid glare, “you’ve caused me a great deal of suffering for somebody who bears me no ill will.”

Elysia shrugs. "We were at war. Even so, I apologize for your treatment here. That should not have happened."

"Interrogator," Ician says, seeing Aennil's mood, "with all due respect, please go away."

"As you wish," Elysia says pleasantly, and turns to leave. "I will let you know if I locate your belongings."

“No war should excuse torture,” which you know is unrealistic, “I’m glad Matis is dead. It’s a step in the right direction for my own people. Perhaps now I’ll be in an adequate position to exert my will about that upon my folk.”

Ician rubs the back of Aennil's neck. "I hope so."

Now can he tell Aennil about the mission to destroy the portal? No, not here: the peacekeepers are still watching. The fewer people who know about this -- and about Ician's misgivings about his mission -- the better. But, since Aennil is now legally a draenei citizen, telling him no longer constitutes treason.

The exarch's secretary returns and hands Ician a housing assignment. He recognizes the location: it's near the paladin barracks, among the quarters for senior and married paladins. The secretary also instructs the peacekeepers to return Ician's and Aennil's weapons. Ician slings his shield over his shoulder with a sense of relief: he felt almost naked without it.

"The intelligence service said they would send someone to debrief you as soon as possible," the exarch's secretary says.

"So we should probably get over there," Ician says, extending a hand to help Aennil up.

When you get your grubby fingers on your daggers again, you’re very relieved to tuck them back into your new belt. Now, if only somebody could recover your old weaponry. You wonder what Ician had done with it. Taking ician’s hand, you rise from the seat you’d taken (and don’t yet let go). “Yes, lets. Maybe once that’s over with you can show me around the exodar without me having to hide,” you tease your Draenei companion, a smile claiming your features again. You know there would be a lot of trouble after what you’d done here today- you could probably never go home, or see your father or sister again. But maybe it’s worth it.

"I would love that," Ician says, sincerely. "I believe returning to our quarters will take us through the Vault of Lights. It is where our people's history is celebrated ... and mourned."

Ician leads the way out of the exarch's office. The peacekeepers depart as well, appearing rather relieved to have the situation taken care of. The passages will quickly return them to the Seat of the Naaru, where the great column of swirling pink light reaches up through the floor to the top of the Exodar. And where the Alliance bulletin board stands prominently, inviting all draenei to aid their new allies.

And the alliance bulletin board is exactly what stops you in your tracks. Oh. _Oh_. That was... not excellent. That was _not good_ at _all_. The enormity of what you’d just done hits you. Not only had you defected from your race, but from your entire side of the war. “Ician,” you begin calmly, “you didn’t tell me the Draenei were Alliance.”

"Alliance?" It takes Ician a moment to even notice that Aennil has stopped, filled as he is with thoughts of what lies ahead of them. He ends up pausing a couple feet in front of Aennil, looking back at him, glancing from the elf to the bulletin board. "Oh, that. I ..."

It takes Ician a moment to sort through his thoughts. He had known, of course, that the blood elves were Horde, but only vaguely; he'd always conceptualized them as _the blood elves_ , fighting for their own reasons, rather than part of any abstract faction.

"I thought you knew," Ician finishes, rather lamely.

“I didn’t think you’d been here long enough for them to get to you,” you finish lamely. This was not the place to deal with this sudden panic at all. You knew what was done is done, but— you’d taken a much larger step than you thought you had. “My sister is going to kill me.”

"Get to us?" Ician frowns. He also files away the "sister" bit: he hadn't known Aennil had a sister. "This sounds like a conversation we should perhaps not have in the middle of the Seat of the Naaru."

Ician has no idea how long and bloody the war between the Horde and the Alliance has been; he doesn't understand the conflict with the blood elves as anything more than a minor land skirmish.

He offers Aennil his hand. "To our quarters, then?"

“Please,” you respond weakly, taking Ician’s hand like it’s a lifeline, clinging to him tightly. “Yes. To our quarters.” You don’t regret your decision. Ician’s solid presence by your side assures that. You don’t regret your decision, but you hadn’t quite realised the enormity of it until right this second. But you don’t _regret_ it. You could never regret this decision, if it kept Ician safe.

Considering Aennil's apparent mood, Ician makes little attempt to show him the wonders of the Vault of Lights: the golden, shining hall; the holograms that depict the demons of the Burning Legion; the Prophet Velen's seat. Instead Ician makes a beeline for the paladins' quarters -- a quieter, more private area -- and navigates to their particular room. Like his father's chamber, it's opened by touching a crystal in the wall by the door. As the door slides open at Ician's touch, it occurs to him that Aennil might still need to attune to the crystal, since his biometrics aren't on record with the Exodar like Ician's. There's a lot of administrative tasks like that that need to be taken care of if Aennil is going to live on the Exodar for any length of time, actually: everything from food rations to laundry tags.

The room inside is much like Kaolai's, with a bed, a small table and two chairs, a kitchenette, and a bathroom. Both the main room and the bathroom are a little larger than Kaolai's quarters, though -- though hardly _spacious_ , and the bed is larger as well.

When the door slides shut behind them, Ician turns to Aennil. "What did you mean about the Alliance? That they'd gotten to us?"

“I— you’re Alliance.” You wander to a seat at the table and sit within it. “Oh, god. _iIm_  Alliance,” you’re hardly answering Ician’s question. You look sick, pale and clammy. _Y_ _ou don’t regret this_. You _don’t_. Ician was _safe_ and so were _you_. “I’m sorry. I know it’s not as big a deal as I’m making it into. I just wasn’t prepared.”

Ician sits down on the bed, watching Aennil with concern. "What's wrong with the Alliance? They welcomed us to Azeroth, sent envoys to help our people in our time of greatest need. They're still helping us try to build a life here. They gave us these isles ..." Where the blood elves had been settling. _Oh._

“There’s just... too much to even explain. I’ve spent my life hearing the horror stories. I know I need to be unbiased, but it’s... hard.” You rub your palms against your thighs with a little bit of worry, something you do when you’re anxious. You look over to Ician, and weakly request, “Can I have a hug?”

"Of course." Ician comes over and wraps his arms around Aennil, standing -- or rather bending over -- in front of his chair. It disturbs him to think that there might be horror stories about the draenei's new allies. But then he supposes Aennil's treatment in that cell created a horror story about the draenei. He isn't naive enough to imagine that either side in such a grand war has kept their hands completely clean, but he would like to think he's fighting for the morally superior faction, or why fight at all?

You wrap your own arms around your blue companion, standing up to make it a little easier for him. It’s soothing, like you’d needed, and you let the panic settle in the back of your head instead. You were fine and Ician was fine. “War sucks.” You complain; maybe if you started to fix some of the problems, things would get better.

"It does indeed." Ician pulls Aennil in close, wrapping his arms and entire body around the elf as if to protect him from the world. Unfortunately, the world's next intrusion into their relationship comes from Ician himself. "There's something I need to tell you. Well, something _else_ I need to tell you."

Before Ician can continue, there's a loud knock at the door.

You think you could probably happily die wrapped up in ician’s arms. “Okay, what—“ you’re disturbed by the knock, and you grimace. “That’s probably for me.”

With a wordless grumble of annoyance, Ician releases Aennil and goes to open the door by touching a crystal beside it. In the doorway stand two draenei in uniforms similar to Elysia's, a man and a woman. They enter without waiting for Ician to invite him.

"We're here to debrief Aennil," the man says pleasantly. "Anything you can tell us about the blood elves would be helpful."

"You don't have to stay," the woman adds, to Ician.

Ician raises an eyebrow. "But I will."

You reseat yourself at the table and wave there’s Draenei towards the table. “You ask, I’ll answer. I don’t know what you want. Please, sit. If I had tea, I’d offer you some, but I only just got here.”

There's only two chairs, counting the one Aennil sits in, which makes it awkward. The male draenei sits in it while the woman remains standing at his shoulder. The male draenei also takes out a notebook from an inner pocket and opens it to a blank page, ready to write down anything Aennil says. Ician sits on the bed, watching.

"How many blood elves have been deployed to Bloodmyst?" the female draenei asks. "Where are their camps, and who are their commanders?"

“Already with the numbers. There was one unit of settlers here - around five dozen. When the Draenei arrived, a unit of soldiers were sent in case they were violent. Three more were sent when the damage to the land was noticed and actively started fighting to defend what _was_ blood elf land. I only came in the most recent deployment, when two more units were sent, one of warriors and another for reconnaissance. I was in the reconnaissance. If you have a map, I can point out the camps for you. I’m sorry, I only knew my commander— Matis, but he’s dead now. I’m not sure who replaced him.”

"Five dozen to a unit?" the male draenei asks, writing this down.

"I have a map," the woman adds, taking one from her pocket and spreading it on the table before Aennil. It marks Blood Watch and one or two blood elf camps that the draenei have discovered -- and the current location of the blood elves' portal back home.

"What about Sironas?" Ician says. He's reluctant to participate in this interrogation, but this is something he has to know. "Another blood elf told me that a demon called Sironas led them."

“Five dozen, give or take. I don’t know of Sironas. We were kept very individual; for safety, I guess. You’re lucky you got me, though, instead of a soldier... perhaps the elf you got that information from was part of this Sironas’ entourage.” You circle two more camps on the map. “We weren’t told where the settlers were, or which camp was theirs. I request that if you find them, you leave them be. They’re civilians, not part of the army- children, mostly, barely apprentices.” You don’t like that they know where one of the portals is, but you suppose this was your side now.

The male draenei continues to write all of this information down.

"Are there any other locations we should know about?" the female draenei asks, her eyes sharp.

"Matis spoke of entering the Exodar and enslaving the naaru at its core," says the man. "Do you know anything about that? Plans for that?"

"They wouldn't have taken the settlers back home?" Ician asks, genuinely curious.

“As far as I’m aware, Matis was far more talk than he was action. In the very least, I wasn’t made aware of any plans like that.” You glance at the map, and a look of concentration crosses your features. You mark the general areas where scouts haunted, as well as hunting and supply runs, explaining as you go.

You look over to Ician, and smile. “They refused to go home. It’s in our nature to be stubborn.”

The female draenei leans forward, frowning over the map. "What about the portal locations? We know it moves around."

Ician frowns at that, then frowns more deeply at Aennil's answer. That's ... not good. With the portal closed, the blood elf civilians will be just as stranded as the soldiers. Ician would love to see the draenei and blood elves coexist on Bloodmyst, but, with Aennil's fear of the Alliance fresh in his mind, he has dire doubts about that.

“I know our closest one only— and you already have it circled. I know it can be found at that location between midday and dinner time.” You admit, and scrawl the time in for the portal they have located. “I can’t tell you where else it shows up, beside that there’s a location for each camp.”

Since they're discussing the portal already, Ician decides to go ahead and voice his concerns. Maybe the intelligence officers will have something reassuring to tell him.

"I know we plan to close the portal," Ician says. "The mission was assigned to me, in fact. But I'm concerned about the blood elves who will be stranded when we do so. How do we plan to deal with them?"

“You’re going to close the portal?” Your eyes widen just a little, but you do your best to hide your panic. “How?”

"I believe the plan was mostly 'smash it till it stops working,'" Ician says, with a note of humor. Then he gets more serious: "I'm to find its active location and destroy the arcane focii from which it draws its power."

"I can't answer your question," the male draenei tells Ician, with a hint of disapproval: he doesn't particularly like that Ician is sharing important information with Aennil, conversion or no conversion. "That's not our department."

"I see," Ician replies, eyes narrowing. The words remind him too much of the responses of the guards who were supposed to be caring for Aennil: _not our lookout_.

“Destroying the arcane Focii will cause severe damage on the other side of the portal,” You note, “it’ll cause just as much damage on the other side as you cause on this side. There’s people on the other side. Mages keeping the portal open. Apprentices.”

"It has to be closed," says the female intelligence officer. "We can't allow reinforcements to pour in unfettered."

The male draenei clears his throat. "I believe this was a debriefing, not a discussion of military strategy? Aennil, how do the blood elves plan to strike? How many more reinforcements will they send, and when?"

Ician, meanwhile, asks, "Is there a better way to destroy or permanently close the portal, Aennil? One that won't hurt anyone on the other side?"

“I don’t know.” You run fingers through your hair. “I’m not in charge of what units are sent and aren’t.” You glance to Ician, and offer a shrug. “Depends what your mages are capable of. I’m no mage myself- I don’t know how the portal works. You could always try to scare them into closing the portal from the other side.”

"We do have some very good mages," Ician says, brightening. That might solve one problem, at least, though it would still leave the remaining blood elves stranded.

"What about the Vector Coil?" says the female draenei. "We know the elves have seized it. What do they plan to do there?"

“The what?” You don’t know what she was talking about, so you assume that’s probably something that was kept from you. “I’m sorry, I don’t know anything about that.”

"You don't know very much, do you?" the male draenei says. His tone is neutral, not accusatory, but Ician still bristles a bit.

“I’m sorry. Our missions and camps are kept very separate in case one becomes compromised. Additionally, I’ve been away from my camp for two weeks now. Anything that’s happened during that time isn’t known to me.” You bristle a little, too, but you can understand where he’s coming from. It _does_ still sound like you’re keeping a lot from him.

The female draenei sighs. "I think that is all, then. We know where to find you if we have more questions."

The male draenei packs up his notebook and the map, and the two of them turn to go.

“I’ll answer anything you can think of to the best of my ability. I’m sorry I couldn’t help more.” You say that a little stiffer than you would have otherwise, and tiredly watch the two pack up and begin to leave. Good riddance. You hated interrogators.

Ician sighs with relief as the door slides shut behind the intelligence officers. All things considered, he thinks that went well. No threats.

He's still worried about the portal, but he decides to let it go for the moment. They can stress over that when they get back to Blood Watch. He looks to Aennil. "Well, we have some time to ourselves now. How do you want to use it?"

“Good riddance,” you grumble once the door is closed, and you’re finally able to focus on Ician again. You have so many questions that want to be accusations, but.. overall, you’d prefer not to do that. He was still a paladin, and you’d still been a blood elf. Things were different now, but hadn’t been for even an hour yet. “If I still had my pack and my silver, I’d offer to buy us something to eat on that tour you owe me.”

Ician smiles. "I think I can cover that."

He stands up, then thinks of something. "I should send my father a note to let him know that we're safe. I think ... yes, this will do."

He looks through the drawers under the bed until he finds pen and paper, then leans over the table to write a quick message to Kaolai.

You shoot a warm smile back at Ician, and watch as he locates the pen and paper (when you think he’s done writing, you swipe the pen and scrawl a bunch of smiley faces in the bottom corner). “Right. Oh, can you show me how to open the door? I fear I’ll forget that doors open and forever be trapped here.”

Ician smiles at Aennil's addition to the note, then folds the paper, seals it with a dab of glue from the drawer, and addresses it to Kaolai. He puts the finished product in his pocket: It'll be easy enough to drop it in a mailbox when they leave. The Exodar's post system is highly efficient, and the message should get to Kaolai perhaps even sooner than Ician could physically visit him.

Ician turns a bit solemn at Aennil's question -- as light as his phrasing is, he doesn't like to think of Aennil trapped, not after what he's seen. Fortunately, that's not possible here, as Ician explains.

"Anyone can open the door from the inside by touching this crystal." Ician demonstrates. "It's impossible to get locked in, for safety reasons. To open the door from the outside you touch the corresponding crystal on the outside, but those are keyed to specific individuals. I know this one permits me entry, but I suspect it won't work for you, since the Exodar doesn't have your biometric data. We can probably get that fixed if I speak to the housing supervisor."

“So, I guess our first stop on this tour of wonder is to go speak to this housing supervisor of yours.” You’d like to be able to get into your own room without having to have Ician with you (not that you plan on going many places without Ician to begin with). You nudge Ician with an elbow. “Then you owe me lunch.”

Ician smiles. "I could never rest easily with such a debt hanging over me."

He opens the door again and gestures Aennil out with a little bow. "The housing supervisor's office is this way."

The same people are responsible for the paladin barracks and these quarters, so Ician knows exactly where their office is.

(You close the door and then open it yourself. You can’t help it- it’s neat.) Heading out into the corridor, you immediately turn to wait for Ician; and, the moment you can, grab his hand. You’re not sure whether the mood between the two of you is romantic or not, but this was something you knew was allowed.

Ician smiles to see Aennil's interest in the door, and squeezes Aennil's hand as they walk down the corridor. It'll be nice to have some time to themselves. They can actually get to know each other without a war on for a bit.


End file.
